If the choice were mine to make
by scf3
Summary: COMPLETE. At the Battle of Hogwarts not only Voldemort but also Harry and Ron die. Four years later Hermione still struggles with grief and self-reproaches when she suddenly meets Snape again.
1. An unexpected meeting

**If the Choice were mine to make**

_Disclaimer: The characters and world described in this story were created by and are the property of the brilliant J. K. Rowling. They don't belong to me and I'm not making any money out of them._

_Here we go again! __This story is going to be a bit different from my first story _A Touch of Frost_: It'll concentrate more on Hermione-Snape-interaction, and it'll be told from both point-of-views._

_It also follows canon__ apart from – obviously – the end of DH (meaning it departs from canon when Harry, Ron and Hermione leave Hogwarts to go to the Shrieking Shack during the battle)._

**An unexpected meeting**

Stratford in the middle of January was a rather dreary place. A cold and wet wind swept through the streets which were nearly empty of tourists and bare trees stretched their branches into a leaden sky full of heavy clouds. Half an hour ago it had started to rain heavily and Hermione, who had left her umbrella in the youth hostel, had hurried into a small bookstore, hoping to find some entertainment there while she waited for the rain to stop.

She had already chosen two books and was leafing through a beautifully illustrated edition of _Paradise Lost_ when something made her turn around. It hadn't been the doorbell, although that had just chimed, but the strange and subconscious feeling that someone was looking at her. When she turned around she froze and nearly dropped the book she was holding. Standing in the doorway, staring at her, was Snape.

He hadn't changed much. His hair was a bit shorter and he wore muggle-clothes, but his distinct facial features were unmistakable.

Before Hermione could say or do anything, he turned on the spot and hurried away, leaving her standing there open mouthed. Hermione's mind was reeling but after a few seconds she put the three books she had looked at on the counter, quickly asked the clerk to keep them for her, and rushed after Snape. As soon as she left the shop icy rain lashed into her face and she could just see Snape hurrying around a corner. Hermione started to run, ignoring the rain that quickly started to soak through her cloak. She gasped in relief when she turned the corner and saw Snape not too far in the distance. Unlike her, he was carrying an umbrella, in black of course.

He was walking briskly but not so fast she couldn't follow him. Hermione didn't really know what she would do when she caught up with him but there was no way that she'd just let him go. Snape never looked back but the speed of his walk and the fact that he took quite a few turns indicated that he knew he was being followed. Hermione just hoped that he wouldn't disapparate.

After about five minutes he turned around another corner and when Hermione followed she nearly bumped into him. He had stopped right behind the corner, facing her.

"Why are you following me, Miss Granger?" Neither his voice nor his face betrayed any emotions.

"I need to talk to you," Hermione said, shivering in the rain but meeting his cold gaze defiantly. He seemed to consider for a few moments, his dark eyes burning into hers with an unreadable expression, then gave a short nod and crossed the street to a small café not far down the road.

It was a relief to be out of the cold rain and to get out of her wet coat. After they had sat down in a semi-secluded corner behind a pot-plant Snape ordered tea and Hermione, who was still shivering, hot cacao. Neither of them said anything while they were waiting for their orders. Hermione felt profoundly uncomfortable, not only because she was wet and cold but because she had acted on an impulse and didn't really know what to say or do now – in a way it was strangely surreal, sitting in this muggle-café with Snape, of all people.

When the waitress had brought the drinks Snape murmured a charm which would make the other customers of the café ignore them. He still didn't say anything to Hermione but took a few sips of his tea, scrutinizing her with his black eyes in a way which made Hermione feel as if she were back in his class again. After this had gone on for a few minutes she thought it was high time that she said something. Up till then she had avoided looking directly at Snape but now she squarely met his gaze, for the first time noticing the new lines on his face and the streaks of gray in his black hair. _It's been nearly four years, after all_, she thought. _H__ow old is he now? About 42? He isn't a young man anymore._

"So you haven't died," she stated calmly

His mouth curled into a sarcastic smile. "What a very acute observation, Miss Granger."

"In the wizarding world most people think that you're dead – why did you disappear? You should have had your portion of the glory."

"After everything which had happened I thought it best to lay low for a while."

"For nearly four years?"

He didn't answer at once but sipped at his tea. "You're hardly the one to scold me, Miss Granger," he finally replied, "I haven't heard much about your feats in the wizarding world."

Hermione looked at her cacao. "I have returned to the muggle-world."

"I see." His voice was level, not betraying surprise, triumph or any other emotion.

There was silence for some moments which he finally broke: "Why did you want to talk to me?"

She met his dark eyes, her heart beating fast and the familiar pain nearly choking her. "Why did you hold me back?"

He didn't answer immediately but held her gaze, his eyes unreadable. "There was nothing you could have done, not for Potter, nor for Weasley. You would only have got yourself killed."

Hermione felt anger welling up inside her. "You don't know that. I might have been able to help them, to distract Voldemort, to do anything…" Her voice trailed off and she felt tears in her eyes. Hermione blinked them away angrily, she certainly wouldn't cry in front of Snape. He looked at her without any expression in his eyes or face, distanced, as if they were discussing something rather boring and not the death of her two best friends. But what had she expected? Some sympathy perhaps, after all he had been the only one present, the only one who had seen what had happened. But it had been stupid to follow him, to hope for anything. Suddenly she was terribly angry, angry with herself for showing her weakness to him, and angry with him for his cold detachment.

"You are silly to believe that your intervention would have changed anything," Snape said coldly. "Potter had to die. There was no other way to kill Voldemort. I would have thought that with your intelligence you would have realized that without my assistance."

Hermione felt as if he had slapped her. Hot fury welled up in her and she wanted nothing more than to hurt him, to shake this insufferable complacency. "I am sorry I stole your time," she said as collectedly and coldly as she could. "I should have known that it was useless to talk to you. You never even liked Harry and Ron." She watched him but the only reaction he gave was a slight curling of his lip. Was a sneer all he would give Ron and Harry, even after they had died to bring Voldemort down? Her anger and pain nearly choked her and with a small, bitter laugh she went on, "Probably you don't know what it feels like to lose a friend, after all you killed Dumbledore!"

His face froze and his eyes blazed and Hermione felt a wild feeling of triumph. Finally she had got to him, had shattered his complacency. Snape stood up abruptly, looming over her as he always had when she had been his pupil. Deathly fury radiated from him. But Hermione wasn't a little girl anymore, afraid of his displeasure, and so she quickly got up as well, facing him with her chin raised and her heart pounding heavily.

"Go!" he hissed, his blazing eyes boring into hers.

Hermione hesitated for a few seconds, then turned, grabbed her coat and left the café. The cold rain lashed her face and mingled with the tears that had started into her eyes. She walked around aimlessly, her mind in turmoil. After a few minutes she passed an old church and went in, glad to get out of the rain. It seemed to be Catholic and the smell of incense enveloped her. The church was empty and only dimly lit and Hermione was glad for it. She sat down in a pew, shivering, and tried to compose herself. Her heart was still pounding with fury, but after a while her anger receded.

Whatever had come over her to talk to Snape like this? He had infuriated her, certainly, but she had gone too far. She had been provoked by his behaviour and reacted emotionally, like Harry and Ron always had. Hermione stared at a stand with a few lighted candles, their flames dancing in the gloom of the church. And Snape had been right, hadn't he? She had known for a long time that she probably wouldn't have been able to save Harry and Ron. It had not been what he said, but the way he had said it that had infuriated her. His complete disregard for the death of her friends, for her overwhelming loss. But in all fairness she could hardly be surprised that he didn't much mourn for them. And her comment about Dumbledore... That had just been cruel, born of a petty need for revenge, the need to hurt him as much as he had hurt her. Another thought struck her. She hadn't even paid for her hot chocolate. Hermione groaned. He must think her ill-bred, childish and hysteric.

While Hermione was sitting in the church, reproaching herself, Snape had stayed in the café, fuming with fury. What was the girl, that annoying, ill-bred know-it-all thinking? How did she dare talk to him like that?

But she wasn't a girl anymore. Nearly four years had passed and she was a grown woman now. And she had changed apart from that. Her hair was much shorter than the wild mane he remembered and her face, which used to wear either a thoughtful expression or a smile, now looked serious and sad. Clearly she was still mourning her friends. And while Snape sipped his tea and stared across the room, he didn't see the busy café but what had happened that night in May nearly four years ago.

…

_Four__ years earlier_

The moon was shining brightly, dipping the Hogwarts grounds in silvery light when Snape went to search for Potter and Voldemort. He had been ordered to join the battle which was raging just now, but Snape had been there only for a few minutes, making sure that some of the Order and some Death Eaters saw him being hit by a spell which made it appear that he had been incinerated. Now they hopefully would think him dead. Snape wouldn't kill any of his fellow Order members and he certainly wasn't keen on being killed by them. He just had to make sure that Voldemort died tonight.

Snape hadn't found the Dark Lord where he had left him not long ago, and so now hurried through the grounds, increasingly worried. He just hoped that Potter wouldn't mess up. His mouth curled into a sarcastic smile. He had sworn to protect Potter, sworn it to himself and to Dumbledore, but that certainly wasn't because he liked the boy. It was because of Lily, and because he knew that only Potter might be able to defeat the Dark Lord.

He reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest and entered it without hesitation. When he had walked for about ten minutes he suddenly saw a bright glow between the trees and headed towards it. After a few more minutes Snape stepped out onto a large clearing and immediately stepped back into the shadow of the forest. In the middle of the clearing stood the Dark Lord and Potter, about ten feet apart, their wands connected by a blinding stream of energy which also surrounded their bodies. Neither of them had noticed Snape. They seemed to be isolated from their surroundings, completely focussed on each other.

Snape didn't dare come any closer. Whatever was happening, it wouldn't do for anyone to interfere. And so he waited in the shadows of the trees, fervently hoping that Potter would be strong enough.

Suddenly something broke through the underwood several feet away from him and Ronald Weasley stumbled onto the clearing. "Harry!" he shouted, and before Snape could say or do anything he charged forward and aimed his wand at Voldemort, yelling "Stupefy!" As soon as his spell hit the Dark Lord the bright energy which was pulsing between him and Potter also enveloped the Weasley boy, fixing him at the spot. He didn't move at all but looked as if petrified, a surprised expression on his face.

Snape, who had stared at the scene before him, heard a cry and turned to see the Granger girl only a few feet from him, her eyes wide and her wand hand shaking. She made to start towards Weasley and Potter but he stepped forward and grabbed her. He wouldn't let her endanger their whole enterprise.

"Don't be silly," he snarled, holding her roughly and pressing her wrist so hard she gasped and let go of her wand. "There's nothing you can do."

She however didn't pay any heed to what he was saying but was fighting him like a wildcat, kicking and scratching and even trying to bite him. And that was hardly surprising, really, since she still thought him on the Dark Lord's side.

Suddenly the light which surrounded Potter, Voldemort and Weasley brightened until Snape couldn't look at it anymore but had to close his eyes. Then there was something like a soundless explosion, rocking the ground beneath them and bringing him to his knees, and as he opened his eyes again the light was gone and in the soft light of the moon he saw Potter, Weasley and what had once been Tom Riddle lying on the ground.

He let go of the girl who immediately rushed forward to her friends, and walked towards the Dark Lord. Kneeling down beside him he saw that he was dead, his inhuman face contorted with anger and disbelief. Snape got up and looked down on the man who had controlled his fate for so many years now, and a small and bitter smile settled on his face.

A hoarse sob, hardly human, jerked him out of his reverie and he turned towards the girl. She was kneeling between her two friends, who were both as lifeless as the Dark Lord, her body shaking with anguish. Only now did Snape notice that her wild hair was singed and that there was blood on her torn clothes. She had had her share of the fight it seems. Her eyes were wide and full of pain and with a choked voice she whispered "No, no, no," incessantly. Suddenly she bent towards the Weasley boy, softly stroked his cheek and kissed him tenderly.

Watching her, Snape suddenly felt a strange stab of compassion. It seemed they had been more than just friends. The girl, who didn't seem to notice him at all, took the boy's hand, and then turned towards Potter and took his hand as well. And so she sat on the forest ground, holding her friends' hands in hers, her head bent and her slender body shaken by unbearable anguish.

Snape slowly went back to the edge of the clearing. He should have left immediately, but somehow the sight of the girl's grief kept him lingering. There was nothing he could do for her and he certainly was the last person she would want to see right now. But nevertheless Snape remained in the shadows of the trees, his eyes involuntarily fixed upon her.

Suddenly he heard noises not far away. He retreated further into the shadows of the forest, prepared to fight if it were Death Eaters. But then Hagrid, McGonagall and Arthur Weasley stepped onto the clearing, and he relaxed. They cried out when they discerned Hermione and the bodies in the moonlight, and hurried towards her. Arthur was sinking down next to the corpse of his son and his shoulders shook with anguish. Hagrid howled so loud birds fled from the forest and then started to cry. McGonagall was standing between the bodies, the moonlight showing her face frozen with exhaustion and grief. After a few moments she bowed down to Hermione, addressing her with soft words, trying to draw her out of the shock she was obviously in.

Snape decided that it was high time for him to leave. He didn't want any part either in triumph nor mourning. His time at Hogwarts was over and the only thing left for him to do was to gather some things from his rooms. He turned around silently and went away without attracting any attention.

* * *

A/N:

_I know it's not particularly nice to kill off Harry and Ron, but the idea just leapt into my mind during a particularly boring lecture some years ago and it stayed with me until I decided to write a story about it._

_The title of this story comes from the song "And so it goes" by Billy Joel. Check it out, it's really beautiful (and fits quite well in my opinion)._

_I hope you enjoy the story. As always, please give me your thoughts, your comments are highly appreciated._


	2. After the battle

**After the battle**

Hermione didn't like it, but she knew she wouldn't feel better until she had apologized to Snape. Or if he didn't accept her apology she could at least pay for her hot chocolate. And so she left the church after about half an hour with a heavy heart, dreading her meeting with him.

At least it had stopped raining. When Hermione arrived at the café, however, Snape was gone.

_Damn_, she thought, _and what now?_ She couldn't search all of Stratford for him. But perhaps he'd come for the play, just like she had? After all, why should one come to Stratford in the middle of winter if not to watch a play? She'd just have to wait and see.

Glad to have come to this decision, Hermione left the café again and went back to the bookshop, shivering in her damp clothes. She needed to get warm again if she didn't want to sneeze through _Macbeth_.

A few hours later Hermione was sitting in one of the cheaper seats of the theatre, her gaze sweeping over the audience. With a jolt she saw Snape entering on the other side of the room and taking his seat in one of the more expensive rows. He never saw her. Hermione's pulse quickened. She'd approach him in the interval when there would be lots of people around and he hopefully wouldn't start shouting at her.

Although Hermione's eyes were fixed upon the stage, she hardly perceived what was going on there. She had always thought that Snape was still alive. There were eyewitnesses who claimed that they saw him die, but there had never appeared a portrait of him in the headmaster's room, and somehow she had just never believed that he was really dead.

It had been a shock when Dumbledore's portrait had finally told them the truth and they had found out that Snape had been on their side all along. Hermione had not been in a state to take it in at that moment, but later, when she had grasped what had happened, she had been staggered by what the forbidding Potions master had been willing to do and suffer to keep up his cover.

When the interval finally came, Hermione hovered in Snape's vicinity without him noticing her for several minutes, building up her courage to approach him. _You're not his pupil anymore_, she thought, angry because she was so nervous. _Get a grip and go!_ And so she softly stepped next to him.

"Professor?"

He jerked around and glowered at her.

Hermione gulped and hurried on. "I came to apologize. My behaviour this afternoon was inexcusable. What I said to you…was terrible and childish. I am very sorry. And I forgot to pay." She held out a few pound coins to him.

Snape stared at the money, his brow furrowed, not saying anything. Hermione felt increasingly nervous. "Please, take it," she said. She hesitated a little, then went on in a low voice, "I acted like that because…I don't know, because I thought you were there, you saw what happened, you would understand…" She gulped and looked down on her hand which was still holding the coins. "But I was stupid and I'm sorry for it. After all you didn't even like them."

Snape still didn't say anything but suddenly his hand reached out and took the money. "Your apology is accepted," he said in a flat voice.

Hermione looked up again but his face didn't show any emotion. She felt extremely relieved and gave him a tentative smile. "Thank you, Professor." She hesitated, but that had been the worst thing she had said and it weighed on her mind. "I'm especially sorry for what I said about Dumbledore," she said hesitatingly. "I can't even start to imagine how terrible it must have been for you to do what you had to do. I am truly sorry."

His face, which had not been relaxed to begin with, tensed until it seemed to be made of stone. He didn't say anything and Hermione had the feeling that she'd made a terrible mistake. "Is this your first time at Stratford?" she blubbered out, immediately feeling the need to kick herself for this unsophisticated attempt at small talk.

Snape's face was still frozen. After a few moments of silence he said "No, I come here every year."

Hermione was surprised, she wouldn't have taken him for a lover of literature. Then again, she knew hardly anything about him. "So…what did you see last year?" she asked, feeling rather awkward.

"_Richard III_."

"And was it any good?"

"It was adequate."

It didn't seem that Snape was keen on talking and Hermione was saved from further embarrassing small talk by the ringing of the bell which announced the end of the interval.

_Saved by the bell_, she thought wryly. She drew herself up, met the glare of Snape's black eyes, and said, "Professor, I wish you a pleasant evening," then turned around and went away, extremely glad that this encounter was over.

Snape remained standing, looking after her for a few moments before he as well returned to his seat. But although _Macbeth_ was one of his favourite plays and although it was an interesting staging, his mind couldn't stay focussed on it. She had come to apologize. Well, that certainly was only right and proper after the way she had behaved earlier. But he had been rather harsh as well, he knew that. Potter and Weasley had been her best friends and it was only understandable that she was devastated by their loss.

So he had accepted her apology. But then she had mentioned Dumbledore again. He had been close to lashing out at her once more, he didn't want her or anybody's pity. When he had looked into her eyes, however, he had seen only pain and understanding, and that had halted and strangely touched him.

He shook his head in annoyance. He should stop pondering about Miss Granger and concentrate on the play, after all that was the reason why he was here. But just like in the afternoon his mind kept coming back to that night in May when the Dark Lord had finally fallen and taken her friends with him.

…

_Four__ years earlier_

Before Snape left the shelter of the Forbidden Forest, he took a small phial out of his robes, opened it and drunk the purple potion it contained. To get to his quarters he would have to walk right through the castle and he didn't want to be seen. The potion wouldn't make him invisible, but for about 60 minutes it would make him so uninteresting that people wouldn't notice him at all.

The closer he got to the castle, the more people he met. And the more wounded and corpses he saw. He tried not to let it get to him, but there were far too many and they were far too young, mere children like Colin Creevy who had died for some ridiculous notion of stupid Gryffindor bravery.

When he passed through the Great Hall he was confronted with the rows of dead laid out and surrounded by grieving family and friends. His breath caught when he saw Molly Weasley, her daughter and one of the twins next to the corpse of the other twin. And they didn't know yet that their youngest son had died as well. Turning away from them he spotted the still form of Remus Lupin lying next to the corpse of the young auror he had married. So they had died as well. Snape stood looking at them for a few minutes, feeling an unexpected sadness. He had never really liked Remus, but of the group of boys who had made his teenage-life hell he had been the least cruel. And he had been intelligent and a capable DADA-teacher. What a waste.

Finally he turned away and left the hall, heading towards his rooms. The moment the Dark Lord had informed him that he would come soon, Snape had started removing his personal belongings, so there wasn't that much left. It took him only a few minutes to gather everything, shrink it and leave. The potion wouldn't work much longer and he hurried through the castle and the people and out into the darkness. He didn't know how many of the protective wards were still active and he didn't want to find out by trying to disapparate. When he arrived outside the Hogwarts boundaries he looked a last time at the looming castle and disapparated.

He didn't apparate to Spinner's End right away, but apparated instead to an abandoned cottage in Dartmoor. The Dark Lord had hiding places like that all over Britain, providing him with shelter and a secure place where to stow away the considerable amount of funds he didn't want to deposit at Gringott's.

Snape murmured a complicated spell and when he had finished a large cabinet became visible. Opening it he found several rather heavy sacks and stacks of muggle money. A small smile tucked at his mouth. Here was enough gold and money to guarantee the life he wanted to lead from now on. He didn't want to go back to Hogwarts. For one thing, he had had enough of teaching dunderheads to last for a lifetime, and he didn't fancy meeting his former colleagues, even though now they would finally learn the truth about him. It was also very possible that not all Death Eaters would be caught and that some of them would come looking for him to punish the traitor. Oh no, he would travel the world, something he hadn't really had a chance of doing yet, and then retire to a nice cottage he had bought in the Scottish wilderness. At last he would live without constant danger, demands and pain.

He didn't have any qualms about taking the money. Sure, it didn't belong to him, but neither had it really belonged to the Dark Lord. And he had certainly more than earned it. There were more hideouts like that and he would give Dumbledore the locations so the Ministry could claim the money stored there. But the money from this hideout he would take.

He left the cottage after only a few minutes and apparated to his small and dingy house in Spinner's End. When he arrived there he lit a fire in the living room, went to the cellar to get a bottle of wine, opened it, poured himself a glass of wine and sank down into a comfortable armchair.

It had been a long day. Snape took a few sips from the red wine, staring pondering in front of him. It was a very rare and very expensive bottle, and he had bought it right after the Dark Lord had returned and saved it for just this occasion – to celebrate his fall.

So why didn't he feel more triumph? Snape rubbed his brow. He was glad that it was over, no doubt about it. More than glad. But there had been too many casualties. So many dead, many of them no more than children, children he had taught, had been annoyed by... After a few minutes he got up, opened a heavily warded drawer and took out a framed picture. He sat down again, took another long sip of wine, and looked down at it. It showed himself when he was fifteen years old, standing rather stiffly next to a beautiful, red-headed young girl who was smiling at the camera and had one hand casually draped around his shoulder. Lily.

He had revenged her, hadn't he? He slowly traced her face with his right index finger. It was a muggle photo and thus didn't move, and in a way that made looking at it bearable.

It wasn't his fault that her son had died, there hadn't been anything he could have done. Certainly Dumbledore had shown few qualms in sending Potter to his death. So why did he feel guilty? He hadn't even liked the boy, he was just too much like his father. Snape's mouth grew very thin. Not only the looks, but also the behaviour. Reckless and without any regard for consequences or rules. And Dumbledore had always indulged him. Had made him feel special, important, loved. But in the end it turned out that the Boy-who-lived, just like Snape himself, had only been a pawn in the old wizard's game.

And yet, he had been the last thing alive of Lily, and now he was gone.

And those eyes. When he had first met him he had been shocked by the boy's resemblance to James. But at the same time his heart had been pierced by his eyes, so much like Lily's. He could hardly bear to look at them.

Snape rubbed his brow again. He couldn't help it now, could he? And the most important thing was that Voldemort was finally defeated for good.

Unexpectedly another picture came into his mind. Granger, kneeling between her two dead friends, holding their hands, her body shaking with unbearable anguish.

_Poor girl_, he suddenly thought. She had spent the whole year looking after those two dunderheads – actually she had done nothing else for the last seven years – and now they were dead nevertheless. _Another victim_, he thought gloomily, _another of Dumbledore's pawns_.

He sat in the dimly lit living room for another hour, staring at the picture and into the fire. When he had drunk about half of the bottle he got up and got together the few things he wanted to take with him. Finally he shrank everything so that he was left with only one rather heavy bag. He didn't give a last glance as he left the house. Although he had grown up in it, it had never been home for him. Standing outside the house, Snape hesitated for a few moments. Then, instead of disapparating, he started walking purposefully down the street. During the next minutes his surrounding changed from the run-down area in which he had spent his childhood to a prim middle-class neighbourhood. When he had walked for about fifteen minutes he suddenly stopped in front of a non-conspicuous house with a large front garden, enclosed by a low stone-wall. He looked around to make sure that nobody was near, but it was still some time until sunrise and apart from a few cats he had met nobody on his way there. Then he climbed over the low wall and went towards a thicket of large rhododendrons which stood in a corner of the garden. It had been easier when he had been smaller, but even now he could easily hide in their shelter.

He turned towards the house across the road, another inconspicuous middle-class house probably built in the 1950s. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, but nevertheless Snape's eyes were riveted on it, staring at a window on the right side of the first floor. Her window.

He had come here so many times, had spent countless nights just looking at Lily's house and the window behind which he knew that she was sleeping. He had come there to be close to her, certainly, but also to get away from his parents, from the yelling and abuse and fear that suffused their house so much it enveloped him like a choking garment every time he stepped over the threshold. Here, close to her, in the shelter of the night and the rhododendrons he had found peace.

Snape had started coming here not long after he had first seen Lily and realized that she, like him, could do magic. How happy he had been when they had become friends, and even happier when he knew that she would go to Hogwarts, too. Those years, until his terrible mistake in fifth year, had been the happiest of his life. And even after he had lost her he had come here whenever they were both at home. He had never let her know he was there, of course. It would have been terrible if she had found out. But being here, knowing that she was close and thinking back to the days when they had still been friends, he could at least for a few moments pretend that nothing had changed. And when Lily had died he had still returned from time to time even though her family had long moved out and a stranger now lived in her room. But even then this place and the memories of happier times had been soothing to him.

Snape stayed until the dark of night changed into twilight, a very still and very upright figure, his face stony and his curiously bright eyes fixed on the house across the street. Then he picked up his bag and disapparated.

...

When Snape left the theatre he found it had started raining again. Walking down the street towards his hotel, he suddenly saw a familiar figure not far down the road. Granger. She was standing at a bus stop, seeking shelter from the pouring rain in the door frame of a nearby shop.

Snape's steps faltered, then he strode on purposefully. He wasn't that keen on having to talk to her again, but it would have been silly to cross the road just to avoid her, and it would be just as silly to ignore her since he would have to walk right past her. What was she doing standing there anyway?

He stopped in front of her and the thought crossed his mind that, judging by the way she stared into the night, she probably wouldn't have noticed him anyway. "Miss Granger, what are you doing here?" he asked rather coldly.

She blinked, her eyes widening when she recognized him. "Oh, Professor. I'm waiting for the bus."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And why are you doing that?"

She looked at him defiantly, just like she had looked at him in Potions when she had answered his questions although she knew that though her answer was correct he would demean her in some way. _Bloody Gryffindor bravery_, Snape thought.

"Because the Youth Hostel is a little outside of Stratford," she said.

Snape snorted. "You know that's not what I asked. Why are you standing in the pouring rain waiting for the bus when you could just as easily apparate?"

Her eyes flickered away for a second, then she faced his gaze again. "I haven't done any magic since I left Hogwarts," she said quietly.

Snape was nonplussed. He knew she had returned to the muggle-world, but he would never have thought that she would stop using magic altogether. There certainly was no need for this. Why should Granger, who he grudgingly had to admit was certainly one of the most accomplished witches he had ever taught, give up magic? "But why would you do something so ridiculous?" he asked, his tone derogatory.

Anger flashed up in her brown eyes. "I don't think that's any of your business, Professor," she said in a forced voice.

Usually he would have lashed back at her, but somehow he didn't. _Perhaps you're getting mellow with age_, he thought wryly as he silently scrutinized her face. "You are right," he finally said in a neutral tone. "It is none of my business."

She looked at him in surprise. Obviously she had prepared herself for another harsh comment. Suddenly she looked tired and sad and strangely unguarded. "I know you think it's silly and childish," she said quietly. She didn't meet his eyes but looked out into the rain. "Everybody does. Well, apart from my parents. They are really happy I'm 'normal' again. Not surprising when you think what happened to them." She paused for a few moments, then went on. "I just couldn't do it anymore. I mean I could alright, I just didn't want to. All my magic…all my learning didn't save them, and so there really was no use in it anymore. There was nothing which kept me in the wizarding world." She gave a bitter laugh. "I guess I was just running away. Trying to forget. And it was surprisingly easy. Not to forget, oh no…" She stopped, her face suddenly very tense. "But to lead a 'normal' life." She stared out into the rain for a few more moments, then suddenly looked back at Snape again, a strange expression in her eyes as if she were surprised that she had told him all this.

Snape felt oddly touched. He didn't know what it was, probably the memories that had haunted him all day long, but suddenly he was keenly aware of her pain and desperation and self-reproaches. And he knew how that felt. "There was really nothing you could have done," he said. "Even with all your learning."

She looked at him, surprised by the uncharacteristic softness of his voice. "I know," she replied, her voice full of underlying anguish. "I really know. But it doesn't help." She gulped. "I didn't leave Hogwarts immediately, you know. I finished my last year, and I spent months researching. I… I thought I could somehow go back in time, try to change the past. I read everything on the subject, including all muggle literature. I even managed to do some research in the Department of Mysteries. But it was all to no avail. I still couldn't save them…"

Her voice trailed off and Snape suddenly had to work very hard to keep the noncommittal expression on his face. _So she has done the same I have_, he thought, thinking back to the hours he had spent in the library. _She probably read just the same books I read, and with the same mixture of desperation and hope_. He suddenly felt very strange. "Your friends were very lucky to have you," he said without thinking, surprised at his words and the slight hoarseness of his voice. "Without you they wouldn't have survived even that long. I know it's hard not to, but you shouldn't feel guilty, not for their death and not for surviving."

She stared at him, her face very vulnerable and her eyes wide with surprise. Snape averted his gaze and turned to look down the road. "Your bus is coming," he said, still looking out into the night.

There was silence for a few moments. "Thanks for listening," Hermione said quietly as the bus drew nearer. "And thanks for talking to me."

Snape turned back to her. "I am sorry for your loss," he said rather stiffly.

Her face was lit by a sudden, crooked smile. "Thank you, Professor," she said softly. "And all the best to you."

"Good night, Miss Granger."

The bus stopped and she boarded it. Snape remained standing at the bus stop even when the bus had left, lost in thoughts. The look she had given him when he had expressed his condolences had strangely touched him, and suddenly he knew why. She hadn't looked at him like that for many years. Not ever since her first Potions lessons, when she had faced him with this open and trusting expression in her face, so innocent and eager to learn and please, before his cruel comments had wiped away that look and made her hate and fear him like everyone else.

* * *

_As always, please give me your thoughts, your comments are highly appreciated._


	3. A new beginning

**A new beginning**

Hermione slept surprisingly well that night. She had expected the familiar nightmares to haunt her after what had happened that day, the pictures of Ron and Harry, dead, and she helpless to prevent it, but when she woke in the morning she felt refreshed and couldn't remember having dreamed at all.

_It seems that talking to Snape has done me good_, she thought with surprise while she still lay in her bed in the youth hostel, staring at the ceiling. She had the room for herself and was grateful for the solitude. _Who would have thought that a conversation with him could have therapeutic effects!_ Hermione snorted, then pushed the thought from her mind and got up.

She left the youth hostel early, took the bus back into Stratford and went to the station. On the train back to Cambridge, however, she couldn't keep the memories of what had happened the day before away any longer.

He had been...nearly nice. In a rather special way, but still.

Suddenly Hermione had to think of Ginny. She and Neville had not been as surprised as everyone else when Dumbledore's portrait had told them the truth about Snape. Actually Ginny had said that she had long had the feeling that he was in fact protecting them, shielding them from the other Death Eaters…

Hermione stared out of the train window onto the wintry landscape. It must have been terrible for him. She shuddered. Having to kill Dumbledore, the only one who believed in him. Being seen as a traitor by everyone. Having to play along with Voldemort and his minions. How many deaths had he witnessed without the chance of preventing them? How many had he killed himself?

Hermione felt cold and took out a book to get rid of these bleak thoughts. But they wouldn't go away. No wonder he wasn't an especially social man. He must be very lonely now. Poor Snape.

Hermione shook her head in exasperation. _Get a grip_, she thought, _he's not exactly a lost puppy, is he? _But she knew that that was not why she suddenly felt strangely touched by his fate. _No, he is not. He was and is a nasty bastard with less then stellar social skills. But he also is a middle aged man who risked his life for years and gave everything to bring down Voldemort. And where has that left him? He betrayed his Death Eater friends and broke every contact with his colleagues. He's probably living like a hermit, with no friends or anyone who cares for him._

Hermione knew that there was no use in feeling sorry for Snape who, after all, had chosen this seclusion. _Probably he's happy to be away from Hogwarts and all those terrible students_, she thought with a wry grin. But she couldn't help it, somehow their conversation had touched something inside her.

_He saved my life_, she realized with sudden clarity. _If he hadn't held me back, I would be just as dead as Harry and Ron. Just like he saved us when we faced Lupin in his werewolf form_…

And try as she might, during her way back to Cambridge her thoughts were fixed on the Potions master, replaying all that had happened over the seven years and all she knew about him.

When she finally arrived at her college, she left her bag standing in the middle of her room, turned on the computer and called up the RSC official homepage.

He had said that he came to Stratford every year, hadn't he? And that he had seen _Richard III_ last year… Luckily the RSC had its old programme online as well… And she had been right with her guess: the year before, on the second weekend of January, they had played _Richard III_. So did that mean that he always came to Stratford on the second weekend of January? Not necessarily, but there was a fair chance. So if she wanted to see him again, she would know what to do… not that she wanted, did she? But still, it was good to know…

...

Snape had left Stratford even earlier than Hermione. He wasn't keen on having breakfast in a room full of strange people, and thus left the hotel right after getting up, walked until he had found an empty street and then disapparated.

Unlike Hermione he hadn't slept well at all. Memories of the past had preoccupied him in a way he hadn't experienced for several years, and when he had finally fallen asleep his dreams had been haunted by the scene he had witnessed in the forest. Potter and the Dark Lord fighting. The stupid Weasley boy running to his doom. Him clutching the girl who was desperately trying to get out of his grasp. And then the picture that had stayed in his mind all those years, the girl kneeling between her two dead friends, holding their hands, her body shaking with unbearable anguish.

_Well, she seems alright now_, he thought as he apparated in his study. There were anti-apparition wards around his house, of course, but they didn't apply to himself. _You certainly have no call to trouble yourself with her problems._

But she obviously was still suffering from what had happened. And no wonder, really. Potter and Weasley had been her closest friends, the only ones she had had for a long time. She had been intelligent and ambitious, and such children very often had troubles finding friends…as he knew very well…

She had given up magic. A rather extreme reaction, and, he had to admit, a loss for the wizarding world. She had been a very annoying student, an insufferable know-it-all, but a brilliant one nevertheless. Possibly the best he ever had…

Snape shook his head in irritation. There was no use in pondering on the Granger girl. He had been as nice to her as he could, and that was that.

"How was Stratford?"

Snape turned around, giving an annoyed look to the small picture of Dumbledore hanging on the wall opposite of him. Dumbledore beamed at him, radiating his customary annoyingly happy mood. Not for the first time Snape thought about taking the picture down or at least moving it to another room, but he knew he wouldn't do it.

"Like always", he said noncommittal.

"Really?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and once again Snape was struck by the headmaster's uncanny perceptiveness.

"I met Miss Granger," Snape conceded, turning around to signal Dumbledore that there was nothing more to say about that.

"Indeed." Dumbledore's voice was suddenly serious. "How is she?"

Snape reluctantly turned around again. "What did you expect?" he asked acidly. "She is obviously still mourning Potter and Weasley."

"I never wanted it to end like that," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Really?" Snape asked in a bitter tone. "Were they ever anything more than pawns for you? Like I was?"

"Oh Severus." Dumbledore's face looked troubled. "You know if I could have prevented what happened, I would."

Snape stared into those piercing blue eyes and eventually nodded slowly. "I know." He turned to go, but stopped after a few steps and turned around again. "Did you know she has given up magic all together?"

Dumbledore nodded sadly. "What a loss. But it was her decision."

"So what is she doing now?" Snape asked reluctantly.

"As far as I know she is studying Mathematics at Cambridge."

"Mathematics. I see."

There was a sudden gleam in Dumbledore's eyes, a gleam that made Snape's alarm bells ring. "Are you going to see her again?" the portrait asked.

"Granger? No, why should I?"

"Just an idea," Dumbledore said in a voice Snape didn't like at all. He gave the portrait a rather cold stare, then turned and left the room. There was no reason whatsoever to think that he would see the Granger girl ever again.

...

"So how was Stratford?"

Hermione's friend John had come over shortly after she had got back and was now sitting on her bed. She had met John, who was studying English and was living in the same college, right on her first day, and had liked him immediately. He was extremely good looking – tall, slim, with wavy brown hair and bright grey eyes – and unfortunately gay.

She shrugged. "_Macbeth_ was alright. Not brilliant but ok."

John, who was a great fan of the RSC and would have come with her to Stratford if it hadn't been his boyfriend's birthday that weekend, immediately launched a series of specific questions about the staging of the play, but Hermione had to disappoint him. "I'm sorry," she said with something like embarrassment, "but...I was somewhat distracted."

John raised an eyebrow. "By what?"

"I met a former teacher."

"And?"

Hermione hesitated. "He was a terrible teacher."

John raised his other eyebrow. "Bad memories?"

Hermione laughed a bit shakily. "You have no idea." She was silent for a few moments, then tried to explain. "It was terribly awkward, but actually he was kind of nice. Which I hadn't expected. And he is quite a complex man. Really tragic past you might say." She shook her head. "It's complicated. I don't really know what to think about him, and that bugs me and makes me think about him even more."

John gave her a broad smile. "Then I have just the thing to take your thoughts off your mysterious teacher."

"What do you mean?"

"They are offering a Salsa course at the Union every Saturday evening, really cheap. And I wanted to ask if you were interested."

Hermione hesitated. Only yesterday she'd probably have declined, but today she felt somewhat reckless, eager to try out new things, to live. And she had always liked dancing, even though the few lessons before the Yule Ball had been the only teaching she had. "Why not," she said.

John's face lit up. "Brilliant. It starts in two weeks. Let's unleash your hidden passionate nature."

Hermione snorted. "Don't expect too much, I'm no Jennifer Lopez."

...

It wasn't until mid February that Hermione found the time to talk to Ginny about what had happened in Stratford.

She had come down to London to stay at Ginny's flat over the weekend. Ginny, who worked for the Ministry's department of International Relations, had moved out of the Burrow two years ago and Hermione was glad for that. She had been to the Weasleys' house a few times now, but it still brought back too many painful memories.

Ginny's flat was in a house inhabited exclusively by Ministry employees, and thus it was distinctly magical, if not as much as the Burrow. There were only rather basic technical appliances and hardly any pictures on the walls that didn't move.

It was Friday evening and Hermione was sitting on Ginny's couch, waiting for her to get a bottle of wine out of the kitchen. Looking around, she spotted _The Quibbler_ lying on a desk nearby. Hermione got up, took the magazine and started leafing through it.

"Luna came to visit me last week," Ginny explained as she entered with the bottle and two glasses.

Hermione snorted. "It's back to its old form, isn't it? '_The Ministry of Magic – has it been taken over by aliens?_' Or this one: '_Woman comes back from the dead after 23 years_.' But I have to say, their headlines lack drama nowadays."

Ginny chuckled. "Definitely. But Luna is still travelling the world with her father, looking for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Mind you, I think nowadays she does it mostly for his sake. She thinks of starting an apprenticeship with Hagrid."

Hermione felt a sudden stab of longing. Hagrid. Hogwarts. There were days when she missed it so much it hurt, when she wanted nothing more than to just go there. But she never did. "That's a great idea," she said with forced lightness and took a sip of wine. "Speaking of Hogwarts…I met Snape."

Ginny's eyes grew wide with surprise. "What! Where, and when?"

"When I was in Stratford in January."

"Tell me everything."

When Hermione finished Ginny's face had assumed a pondering expression. "I was pretty sure he hadn't died," she said slowly, "but I'm glad to know it for certain now."

"You never believed he was all evil, did you?" Hermione asked curiously.

Ginny shook her head. "Well I believed it at the beginning, when he became headmaster. After all he had killed Dumbledore and wounded George. But his behaviour during that year… It was a very hard year, even more terrible than when Umbridge was there, but I shudder to think what it would have been like if one of the real Death Eaters had had command over Hogwarts."

Not for the first time Hermione felt a twinge of guilt at the thought that they had left their friends at Hogwarts alone to deal with this situation. Not that their year had been a piece of cake, certainly not, but while they for the most part had only jumped from lonely spot to lonely spot, their greatest worry being boring food and the tense atmosphere between them, Ginny, Neville and Luna had been subjected to Death Eaters every day. With a flash of insight she realized that she might also be jealous. Although life at Hogwarts must have been hard, Ginny had shared it with people like Neville and Luna. It was an experience that would keep them joined for the rest of their lives, whereas she hadn't been there and would always be an outsider to their memories. And the only two people who had shared that year with her were dead now. "I'm sorry we weren't there," she said quietly.

Ginny shook her head. "You don't have to. You did what was necessary."

Hermione reached for her wineglass and took a sip of the dark red wine. "What was Snape like?" she asked when she had swallowed.

Ginny shrugged. "Much the same as before. Mind you, he was never as terrible towards me as he was towards you three. Something about Harry just sent him over the edge. Anyway, it must have been really hard for him. The Carrows were constantly calling for harsher methods in handling the students, and if you thought that Snape was partial and favouring some, you haven't seen what they did. They were just brutal and cruel. But somehow, very subtly, Snape tried to prevent the worst excesses the new regime in Hogwarts brought with it. I didn't understand it immediately, but then he only gave us detention with Hagrid and sent us into the Forbidden Forest when we had tried to steal the sword, and that was really strange. It made me wonder, me and Neville. And when you thought about it there had been a clue right at the beginning that he could still be loyal to Dumbledore."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, furrowing her brow.

"He got into Dumbledore's office." Ginny replied. "Do you remember, Umbridge never could, it had closed itself against her. But it didn't so for Snape, he could get in without using any violence."

"Of course," Hermione said, her eyes wide. "And no one noticed?"

Ginny shrugged. "Strange, isn't it? I guess if they noticed it they must have thought that he'd employed some powerful magic. Or that it was because Dumbledore was dead. That's what we thought at first. But we observed Snape from that time on, and his behaviour was just ambivalent enough to make us think that he might still work for Dumbledore. But we were never certain, of course, and when we told the grown-ups no one would listen to us."

"He must have been very lonely," Hermione said ponderingly, twisting her glass of wine in her hand.

Ginny nodded. "The teachers who weren't Death Eaters were horrible to him. Understandable, after all they thought he was a traitor. They tried to sabotage his orders, defying him in every way possible, and that only brought him new problems with the Death Eaters. And the looks McGonagall gave him..." she shuddered. "I've never seen her look at anyone in that way. Very cold and disdainful, and yet conveying such disappointment and sadness." She was silent for a few moments, then said, "I'd like to talk to him. No idea what I'd say, but somehow... I'd like to thank him." Ginny gave Hermione a questioning look. "Do you think there's any chance you might see him again?"

Hermione hesitated. "I think there's a chance he always comes to Stratford on the second weekend of January," she said slowly. "So if I went there next year... I don't know if I want to see him again, I mean what would be the use of that? What's there to talk about? We never went on well, to say the least, and I don't think he'd be happy to see me again."

Ginny looked at her searchingly. "Still, if you should see him again, would you tell him I'd like to thank him? And that I appreciate what he did, for the students and for everyone else?"

"Sure, I will. If I should ever see him again."

* * *

_Thanks a lot to Lilith Kayden for her reassuring comments on my English! _

_Still, if you spot any glaring mistakes, please tell me so I can correct them._

_As always, please review, your comments are highly appreciated._


	4. Thomas

**Thomas**

On the train back to Cambridge Hermione sat next to a young man with dark blonde hair and a friendly, open face, who seemed to be a bit older than her. At first Hermione didn't pay much attention of him since she was immersed in a book on quantum physics, but she couldn't fail to notice that he was throwing her glances from time to time. She got increasingly annoyed and suddenly looked up, catching him staring at her.

"Yes?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

The young man looked a bit uncomfortable but met her gaze bravely. "I'm sorry," he said with an American accent, "I didn't want to disturb you. But are you by any chance studying Physics at Cambridge?"

"Mathematics."

"Oh." He gave her a slightly embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry. I'm going there to start a PhD in Physics and I thought I could ask you a few questions."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Well, go ahead. I don't know much about the Physics department, but if you have any general questions I'm sure I can help you."

His face lit up with a smile. "Thanks. I'm Thomas, by the way."

"I'm Hermione."

They talked for the rest of the journey. Hermione found out that Thomas came from a small town in Vermont, that it was his first time in Europe and that he had been overwhelmed by London and was enthusiastic about the chance to study in Cambridge. When they arrived she took him to his college, which was not far away from hers, and promised to show him around the next day.

Over the following days and weeks, Hermione introduced Thomas to Cambridge and her friends. He was nice and witty and, even more important, he was intelligent and curious about all kinds of things. He asked her about her childhood and schooldays, but luckily he bought her story that she had spent them at a secluded public school in Scotland.

Hermione found that she spent more and more time with him and increasingly realized that she liked being with him. Liked it very much. And so when one night in May in the darkness of the cinema he laid his hand across hers she didn't flinch but kept it where it was, her heart pounding and her thoughts racing.

It had been a long time. There had been two attempts at a relationship in the last four years, but none of them got further than a month. Both times Hermione had ended it, feeling still too vulnerable and not enough affection for the two boys. Should she risk it again? She didn't want to hurt Thomas, didn't want to lose him as her friend. And she would have to tell him about Ron now, tell him lies to make him understand why a relationship with her would be difficult.

When the lights went on again, she turned towards him and said with a smile, "We need to talk."

He looked a bit nervous but nodded. "All right."

They went to Hermione's college and sat down on a bench in the garden. The air was mild and the night was dimly lightened by the moon and a few lamps. Hermione was quite glad for the darkness, it made her feel less embarrassed.

"Listen, Hermione", Thomas started talking as soon as they had sat down, "I don't want to embarrass you...or threaten our friendship...but I really like you, and I thought if you liked me too, you and me could..." he shrugged his shoulders, the darkness hardly hiding his embarrassment.

Hermione thought how much simpler things like these always seemed in films, reached out and took his hand. "I am flattered," she said hesitantly. "And I like you too...a lot." Suddenly she started giggling. "God, this is embarrassing, isn't it?"

Thomas couldn't help join in her laughter and she felt better immediately. "I am just not sure I am ready for this," she finally said very seriously. "I have to tell you something."

Hermione saw alarm in Thomas' eyes. "Is there someone else?"

"There was." She felt a lump rise in her throat but went on. "I told you about the school I went to. Well, there was a boy there. Ron. He and another boy, Harry, were my best friends, ever since I started going there. We were very very close. I fell in love with Ron, and we got together in our last year. Not long after that both of them were killed in a car accident." Her voice was thick with emotion and Hermione turned away from Thomas' sympathetic eyes and looked out into the night. "I was devastated. And although I tried I've never had a relationship since then." She turned back to him and gave him a sad smile. "I don't know if I can now," she said quietly. "And I don't want to hurt you."

He looked at her searchingly for a few moments. "But you would give it a try?" he finally asked. "This is not only a polite way of turning me down?"

Hermione's mouth twisted into an ironic smile. "Definitely not. I...I don't know if I love you... but I definitely like you. Very much." And she knew that that was the truth.

A sudden smile lit up Thomas' face. "Well that's good enough for me. If it is for you."

"It is," Hermione said softly, watching in fascination as Thomas leaned towards her and kissed her tenderly.

It felt good, very good, and she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, and when she finally broke the kiss and looked into his face, his hazel eyes bright with happiness, she felt happy herself.

...

Hermione was standing in her parents' attic, five large boxes in front of her. They contained all that was left of her years at Hogwarts, all the books, essays and magical instruments. She had stashed them up here when she had left the magical world and hadn't opened them ever since.

It was rather dim in the attic. Darkness had already fallen outside and the room was only illuminated by a single lamp a few feet away from her. It was cold as well but Hermione, ever the practical type, had brought a jacket.

Her parents had gone to visit some friends. It was the last day of her Christmas holidays, tomorrow she'd return to Cambridge. As always, Christmas had been nice, their small family enlarged by the visits of her father's parents and her mother's sisters and their families. Thomas had gone home to the States, but had given her a present which had turned out to be a beautiful 19th century edition of Robert Browning's poems. Hermione missed him and was looking forward to seeing him again soon.

She hadn't decided yet if she should go to Stratford the next weekend and her lack of decision had occupied her all day long. Sometimes she thought that it was ridiculous. She didn't even know if Snape would show up, and even if he was there, what did she want from him? What should she say to him? Always presuming that he'd even talk to her.

But then there was a part of her which, although she didn't know why, was keen to see Snape again. There was no denying that their strange meeting had done her good. The last year had been the happiest since Ron's and Harry's death. Her nightmares had nearly stopped, she'd got together with Thomas and finally had a life outside of her studies. If one year ago someone would have told her that she'd win a Salsa contest, as she had done only weeks ago with John, she'd have thought him crazy. For whatever reason, talking to Snape had lessened the pain and given her a new start in life.

Not able to decide, she had come up here – which had probably been a silly idea. What use was there in staring at these boxes, the remnants of a past she had left behind long ago? Hermione nearly turned to go down again. But she hadn't really left it behind, had she? And so, after a few more moments of deliberation, she bowed over to open the boxes, one by one.

She had shrunk most of the stuff from the earlier years, so there was really not much to see. But Hermione hadn't shrunk most of the stuff from her seventh year, since when she had stashed it up here she had already decided not to do magic anymore.

Her wand lay right on top. Stashing it away had been the hardest part. Hermione picked it up gingerly, feeling the familiar weight and the touch of the wood. For a second she thought of giving it a little wave, just to see if anything would happen, but then she put it down quickly.

Next she took up her seventh year Transfiguration book and, after running a finger along its cover, opened and leafed through it. Then she put it down and took out other books and parchment rolls. Hermione felt a strange mixture of aching familiarity and strangeness. She knew these books nearly by heart, she remembered their weight and their smell. But looking at their appearance, and at the other things stashed in the boxes, they seemed weirdly out of place, as if from a Dickens or Fantasy film. Her hand writing was familiar but looked childish and distorted, written as it was with quills on rolls of parchment.

Hermione unrolled a few rolls, glancing over essays on strange themes like _How to charm a tatzelwurm_. Had she really written these? Sometimes it seemed like a dream.

The next parchment she unrolled turned out to be a Defence against the Dark Arts essay. Looking at the heading, she realized that it was the last essay she had ever written in Snape's class, only a week before he had killed Dumbledore. There were a few red corrections and biting comments in his spiky hand, and at the bottom the short comment "Adequate." Hermione smiled crookedly. The essay was as flawless as possible. All the essays she had ever written for Snape's classes were. But he had never admitted it. In all those years never any praise, and certainly never any encouragement or a friendly word. And that although she had worked truly hard for his classes, perhaps harder than for any other subject. Ron and Harry had often asked why she bothered putting so much effort into her Potions essays. Hermione had always shrugged their questions off and they had thought that it was a compulsion for her to be the best in every subject. And perhaps it was. But in the first place it had been her way of defying Snape and all those other Slytherins who thought that she as a muggle-born wasn't good enough to be at Hogwarts. Even though he'd never admitted it, and even though he had written only disparaging comments on her essays, Snape must have known that her work was impeccable. Being the best, knowing the answers to all his questions and helping Neville, Ron and Harry were the only ways in which she could defy him.

She stared at the parchment for a long time. Suddenly it seemed like only yesterday that she'd been in his class, with Harry and Ron and Neville and all those others, cutting and measuring and brewing.

The memory made her heart ache. Suddenly the picture of Ron, knitting his brow over his Potions assignment and mumbling angrily under his breath brought tears to her eyes. Hermione blinked furiously. She hadn't come up here to get lost in sorrow. Certainly she had cried enough by now.

She forced the picture out of her mind, trying to focus on something else. Snape. During their sixth year he must have known that he would have to kill Dumbledore. Hermione shivered. She might not like him, but she had to acknowledge what he'd done, what sacrifices he had made. And, yes, she pitied him. Staring down on her essay and on his red comments she felt a strange mixture of annoyance and sympathy. At least that was better than the choking sadness that still overcame her when she thought of Ron and Harry.

A sudden touch at her thigh made her jump, but when she looked down she saw only Crookshanks who purred loudly, lashed his tail and looked at her with his _I'm hungry_ – _feed me!-_face. Quickly Hermione put everything back into the boxes, closed them and went down to give him his food. Then she turned on the computer and booked a bed at the Stratford youth hostel.

* * *

_More of Snape next week ;-)._

_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	5. Stratford again

**Stratford again**

"Happy birthday Severus."

Snape, who had just entered his study, threw the painted Dumbledore a less than thrilled look and mumbled something noncommittal. The former headmaster seemed however not the least impressed by this and kept on grinning at him. "You know I'd have given you something, but, alas, in my state..." he shrugged his shoulders apologetically.

"Don't worry," Snape said caustically, "you know I don't care for presents."

Dumbledore looked at him shrewdly. "Indeed. So it's a good thing you've never got any all those years?"

Snape threw him an angry look but didn't say anything, sitting down on his desk instead. He started reading in a large book, pointedly ignoring the portrait.

"I'm sorry, Severus," Dumbledore said after a few minutes of silence, his tone now serious. "You know I think it's nodt good that you have been alone all this time."

"And you know I like my solitude," Snape replied without looking up.

Dumbledore sighed dramatically. "Are you going to Stratford this weekend?" He asked after a while.

"I'm not sure yet."

The former headmaster raised an eyebrow. "And why is that? You always go the weekend after your birthday."

"Which doesn't mean that I'll have to go every single year."

Dumbledore eyed Snape, who was still bent over his book, critically. "I hope you're not refraining from going because you're afraid to meet Miss Granger there," he finally said.

Snape's head jerked up. "That's ridiculous," he snorted, turning at last to face Dumbledore. "Why should I be afraid of meeting her? And why should she be there in the first place? I'm afraid death has muddled your brain."

"Perhaps it has," Dumbledore said, a faint smile on his face. "But if she should be there, please give her my greetings. And my best wishes."

Snape glowered at him in annoyance. "I already told you that I probably won't go."

"Of course, Severus," Dumbledore said, smiling at him benignly. Snape stared at him for a few moments, feeling slightly uncomfortable, then turned back to his book and tried to ignore the grin that he was sure was still fixed on the elder man's face.

...

A few days later Snape was walking through the streets of Stratford, trying to get rid of the feeling that Dumbledore had manipulated him into coming there. Of course the thought that he had wanted to avoid Stratford because of the Granger girl was ridiculous, but still the fact that Dumbledore had voiced that suspicion had nagged at him. And had perhaps been the reason why, after much deliberation, he had finally decided to come.

He couldn't deny that over the last year the girl had been on his mind from time to time. More often, actually, than he cared to admit. For some strange reason their few conversations had come back to him time and again. It was however highly unlikely that he'd ever see her again – he certainly wasn't keen on more soul searching conversations. Snape shook his head in irritation. _There was a time I thought I was finally rid of that annoying know-it-all_, he thought exasperatedly.

As always, he first went to the theatre to buy his tickets. He entered the building, got a leaflet with the RSC's programme, and, studying it, walked towards the ticket booth. As he turned a corner he nearly bumped into someone. Snape muttered an excuse without really looking up and wanted to hurry on, but a cheerful "Hello Professor" stopped him in his track. And there she was, the Granger girl, smiling at him as if their meeting were nothing unusual. She looked better than the last time he had seen her, less weary and sad. And she had let her hair grow again.

"Miss Granger," he snarled, "what a coincidence."

Her smile lessened and her mouth tightened. "Yes, it is, isn't it?" she said, meeting his cold gaze unflinchingly. "Are you going to watch _Coriolanus_ tonight?"

"Why else would I be here?"

"Of course." She gave him a forced smile. "Well, I'll see you then."

Snape felt highly irritated at this uncalled for familiarity. "I don't think so," he replied rather coldly.

Her smile froze but she still met his eyes, thrusting out her chin as she had always done when he had put her down in class. "As you wish," she said, her voice a bit strained. "Have a nice stay, Professor." And with that she went past him towards the exit.

Shaking his head in irritation, Snape went to the ticket booth. He felt slightly uncomfortable about the meeting, and that annoyed him even more. Why should he feel bad about the way he had talked to her? Was he getting soft? After all he had treated her in a similar way for so many years without it troubling him the least.

But she had come to Stratford. Was this a coincidence? And if not, why had she come? Was it because she had thought she'd meet him again? What did she want from him? That she might be expecting something was a rather unpleasant thought indeed, and for a few seconds he even considered skipping this night's play, but then he thought that he'd certainly not be detained from it for fear of meeting a former student. After all it was highly unlikely that she'd continue bothering him now.

...

Hermione left the theatre fuming with anger, less at Snape, who had really only acted as she should have expected, but with herself for having some wild and unrealistic notions that suddenly the both of them could – well, what exactly had she hoped for? That they could talk like normal people? That they could be friends?

The last thought was so incongruous that Hermione snorted and shook her head. What an idea. She certainly didn't want to be friends with Snape! But nevertheless, she had hoped for something, and his behaviour towards her had made it very clear that she had hoped in vain. Well, she had got the hint, she'd stay clear of him the next two days or ignore him if they met.

It was still only early afternoon and thus several hours until the play would start. This time the weather was definitely better than the year before, and Hermione spent some hours wandering through the streets of Stratford, walking into shops from time to time to get warm again.

The play would begin at quarter past seven and so finally Hermione started to look for a place where she could have something to eat. After a while she spotted a small Italian restaurant which looked nice and not too pricey. When she entered, however, she realized that obviously she wasn't the only one who wanted to eat something before the play. The place was crowded. After looking around for a while without spotting a free table, Hermione turned to leave, but suddenly caught someone staring at her from a small table in a dark corner next to the entrance. Snape. She looked away immediately and made for the door, but she had to get past him and when she had nearly reached the exit she heard him say "Miss Granger."

Hermione stopped and turned towards him, looking at him guardedly. He wasn't glowering at her, which was a definite improvement, but looked only a bit bored.

"If you're looking for a place to eat, you can sit at this table," he said in a dispassionate voice.

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise but she still stood rooted to the spot. Snape's face was absolutely unreadable. But this was what she wanted, wasn't it? This was why she had come to Stratford. And so, after a few seconds of indecision, she said "Thank you," and sat down opposite of him.

He was eating what looked like Saltimbocca and drinking red wine. Hermione ordered Lasagne and water. She had a low tolerance for alcohol and would need all her wits for this.

Snape hadn't said anything since she had sat down, and Hermione was wondering if he had meant them just to sit there eating in silence, or if they were supposed to talk. The silence was weighing on her and she didn't know where to look – since she had already ordered she could hardly still stare into her menu. Snape however seemed unperturbed, he just looked down on his plate and ate without taking heed of her in any way.

After about ten minutes Hermione had enough of this. "Ginny Weasley sends her greetings," she said a bit hesitantly. Snape stopped eating and looked up, his face unreadable. "And…she wanted to thank you. For all that you did during that year…"

A bitter smile tucked at his mouth for a second, then his face got dispassionate again. "Indeed. And how did she know you'd meet me again?" he said in a mocking voice.

Hermione felt herself blush and tried very hard to fight it. "She didn't, she just told me if ever I should see you again, I should tell you."

"I see." Snape held her eyes for a few uncomfortable moments, than went back to eating his food. Some minutes passed in silence, then suddenly he said without looking up, "Dumbledore sends his greetings, too."

Hermione jerked up. "You have a picture of him?" She was surprised. She hadn't taken Snape, of all people, for the sentimental type. But they had been close, hadn't they? At least as close as anyone might ever get to the forbidding Potions master.

"I do."

"So how did Dumbledore know you'd see me again?" Hermione asked, a hint of mischievousness in her voice.

Snape looked up and for a second Hermione thought she saw an amused glimmer in his eyes. "The same as with you, Miss Granger. Just in case I should ever see you again."

Silence descended once more. A few minutes later Snape had finished his meal and now there was nothing for them but to either stare at each other or to avoid their eyes. Hermione felt extremely uncomfortable and hoped that her food would arrive soon or that he'd leave. But for some reason he didn't seem in a hurry. His glass of wine was still half full and he only took small sips from time to time. Was he perhaps enjoying her unease?

"So what are you doing now you're no longer teaching?" Hermione finally asked, no longer able to bear the silence.

"I'm enjoying life without students," Snape replied rather sardonically.

Hermione thought that his students probably enjoyed life without him even more, but certainly would never voice this. Snape however must have read it on her face, because his mouth twitched and his eyes glittered. "And yes, I'm aware that the students are not too sorry about that, either."

Again Hermione felt herself blush. _Get a grip_, she thought in annoyance, _you can't have him playing with you like that_. She straightened up, gave him a slightly forced ironic smile, and said, "At least the Gryffindors. I'm sure the Slytherins miss you."

If Snape was surprised he didn't show it. "Slytherins are much too calculating for such sentimental feelings," he said dismissively.

"Do you really think so?"

Snape didn't say anything but held her gaze for a few moments. "And you are studying Mathematics?" He suddenly asked.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at this obvious change of topic. "Yes. Dumbledore told you?"

Snape nodded. "Why Mathematics?"

Hermione could have told him what she told everybody. That it was fascinating, that she loved the logic and all that stuff. But although that was true, it was not the whole truth. And looking into his dark eyes, she knew that if their conversations the year before had meant anything, and if this should mean anything, she must tell him the truth. "Because it's safe," she said finally.

His eyes widened for a second. "I see," he replied quietly.

Hermione looked down on the table, then up again. "I mean it's interesting, too. I like it a lot. But when I chose it, I chose it because it was like a safe world apart from real life. A…a system without any…relationships or emotions. When you do Mathematics you just have to think logically. When you encounter problems, you think about them, without any emotions, and then you solve them and everything is all right."

Before Snape could say anything, the waiter arrived with her Lasagne and Hermione now had a perfect excuse to stare down on her food.

After a few minutes she heard Snape murmur something under his breath, and when she looked up in surprise she realized that he was casting the Muffliato spell. "I'm working on a refinement of the Wolfsbane Potion," he said.

Hermione felt excitement built up in her. Excitement at what he had said, and at the fact that he had told her at all. "So that those affected won't have to transform at all?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes, for a start. And eventually to cure them completely."

Hermione didn't hide her excitement. "You think that's possible?"

"I don't know," he replied. "But I have enough time to find out."

Hermione looked at him intently, trying to read anything in his dispassionate face, but failing. "Remus would have been so glad," she finally said.

Snape snorted. "I'm not doing this for Lupin," he snarled, took up his glass and took a sip of wine.

"Of course not," Hermione replied. "I'm sure you're only doing it for the intellectual challenge."

Snape shot her a mistrustful look but she only smiled at him. "But still, it's a good thing to do. Tell me about it," Hermione went on eagerly.

Snape's face suddenly assumed the arrogant, mocking expression she knew so well from her school days. "I don't think so."

Hermione felt highly annoyed. "You don't think I'd understand what you're doing?"

"I think you're hardly qualified, yes."

Resentment welled up in Hermione and she gave Snape what she hoped was a rather cold stare. "Try me," she said, her voice hard and determined.

Snape's mouth curled into a derogatory smile but he didn't say anything.

Suddenly all the humiliations Hermione had endured all throughout her Potions lessons came back to her. "I may not be a Potions master," she said, irritation suffusing her voice, "but you know very well that I was the best student in my year. I got top marks in my Potions N.E.W.T.s. I'm pretty sure I can follow what you'd tell me."

"Indeed," he said, his drawling tone annoying her even more. "It certainly seems that you're not suffering from lack of self-esteem."

Anger flared up in her. "You know that I'm right," she said, trying to keep her emotions under control. "You might not want to admit it, but you know it. Good God, I...I solved the riddle you devised to guard the Philosopher's Stone in my first year!"

Snape raised an eyebrow but didn't seem to be impressed. "That was only logic."

"Yes," she said, trying to control her temper. "And it was brilliant. You knew that many wizards would have failed when confronted with such a test."

For a second he seemed pleased about her compliment, but then his noncommittal expression was back in place.

"And I brewed Polyjuice Potion in my second year," Hermione added.

Snape's eyes widened for a second. "So it was you who raided my supplies," he said, leaning forward a little. "Interesting. You used it to get access to the Slytherins?"

Hermione nodded. "We wanted to find out if Draco was Slytherin's Heir."

Snape's mouth twitched in an unpleasant way. "But if I remember correctly you ended up in the hospital wing with a...furry problem?"

"Wrong hair," Hermione said in a clipped tone. She kept staring into his eyes, not willing to cave in.

"Was that the only occasion you stole from me?" he asked, his voice now slightly menacing.

"Yes." Hermione hesitated a second, then decided that, what the heck, she could as well come clear now. "But I set fire on you in my first year. During that Quidditch match. I'm sorry."

"That was you as well? But pray, Miss Granger, why ever did you do that?"

Hermione was uncertain if the impenetrable mask of his face hid fury or amusement. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I saw you murmuring under your breath, and Harry threatened to fall off his broom..."

"And so you thought that I tried to kill him?" Snape said sardonically. "Well, well. Any other crimes against me you want to confess?"

Hermione shook her head, glad that he had taken it so well. "No, that's all. Now are you going to tell me about your work?"

Snape scrutinized her with his piercing eyes, but Hermione didn't flinch. Minutes passed in silence and she wondered what she should do now.

"All right," he suddenly said, his face still dispassionate. "You know about the propensities of Wolfsbane Potion?"

Hermione nodded. "It doesn't cure lycanthropy, but relieves its symptoms. If the affected person drinks the potion at full moon and once a day in the week leading up to it, he or she will transform only into a normal wolf and retain control over their actions."

"You still sound as if you've swallowed the text book," Snape said sardonically. "But you're right. What the potion actually does is to prevent the body of the affected person from creating certain hormones which are responsible for the transformation into a werewolf. It can't prevent the creation of hormones which turn them into a wolf, though. Now, what I try to do is…"

During the next ten minutes Snape told her in broad outlines what he had done and what his further plans were. Hermione listened without saying anything, although several questions were burning on her tongue. She knew that it would irritate him if she interrupted him. When he finally stopped talking she asked a few questions. As always, he didn't betray any surprise, but Hermione was pretty sure that he hadn't expected so much insight. Smiling inwardly, she began discussing his work with him.

* * *

_I hope you enjoyed it – please give me your thoughts!_


	6. Correspondence

**Correspondence**

When Snape looked at his watch a bit later he was surprised that it was already high time for them to go to the theatre. He had been so caught up in his conversation with the girl that he had nearly forgotten the time.

He still didn't know what had made him call her to his table in the first place, much less why he had told her about his research. Probably her unexpected honesty about the reason why she was studying Mathematics had affected him. Was he getting soft now? Be that as it may, he had to admit that he hadn't had such a stimulating conversation for a long time. Moreover, it gave him a strange kind of pleasure to tease her, to see anger flare up in her eyes, to observe how she was trying hard to suppress it while at the same time glaring at him in defiance or trying to look unconcerned. She was right, she had been the best student in her year, perhaps even the best student he had ever had. Although of course he would never tell her that. Granted, she was no Potions master, but she remembered an astonishing amount after nearly five years without any Potions, and the questions she asked and suggestions she made were quite relevant.

Now she was brimming with the excitement he remembered so well from her schooldays, and Snape marvelled that she had obviously forgotten how strained their relationship had always been. She was talking all the way to the theatre and only reluctantly left him to go to her seat.

In the interval it took her only a few minutes to spot him and again shower him with questions and ideas that she had had during the play. But the most extraordinary thing, Snape thought when he sat down again for the second part, was that he didn't mind it. He wasn't annoyed. Perhaps he even…enjoyed it?

It was a surprise, and yet when he thought about it it really wasn't. After all he usually had only Dumbledore and his house-elf to talk to, so it was understandable that he'd enjoy a conversation about his work with someone who could understand and appreciate what he was doing.

They left the theatre together and the girl followed him to his hotel, obviously very reluctant to say good-bye. As they stood in front of the hotel entrance, she suddenly looked self-conscious again.

"Could we meet again tomorrow?" she asked. "I have a few ideas I have to think about, but I'm sure I can tell you more tomorrow."

Snape didn't want to let this get out of hand, but she was right, she had had a few good suggestions and it would be illogical to miss this chance of scientific exchange. "Meet me tomorrow at 12 in the restaurant where we ate dinner," he said in a non-committal voice.

Her apprehensive face broke into a wide smile. "I will. Good night, Professor."

"Good night, Miss Granger."

...

When Hermione arrived at the youth hostel she felt as if waking from a very strange dream. Had she really had a lively scientific conversation with Snape? A conversation in which she hadn't felt humiliated or threatened?

She hardly slept that night, her mind too full of their conversation and the idea of finding a cure for lycanthropy. Since she didn't have access to a scientific library in Stratford, in the morning Hermione spent quite an amount of money at the youth hostel's computers to get access to the internet. And yet when noon came she was painfully aware of the fact that she could present Snape hardly more than some vague ideas.

When they met for lunch Hermione was a bit weary at first, not sure if his behaviour the night before had been for real. But as Snape made no attempts to humiliate her and snarled only from time to time, she soon shed her caution and began treating him just as she treated anyone with whom she had a lively discussion. From time to time the strangeness of the situation hit her. And she was surprised not only by her behaviour, but even more by his. He could still be biting, but on the whole he treated her like a human being.

After this night's play they went to a bar to continue talking, and it was with extreme reluctance that Hermione finally made to say good-bye. She had to catch an early train the next day. Suddenly feeling rather self-conscious again, she asked, "Is there any way in which I could stay in touch?...To know how your work is going?"

Snape gave her an inscrutable look and for a moment she worried that she'd asked too much.

"I could send an owl. Once a month. To keep you informed," he finally said.

Hermione smiled at him. This was probably as much as she could get from him. "I'm looking forward to it."

...

During the following days, Hermione waited impatiently for Snape's owl. But it wasn't before the end of January that she was one Sunday morning woken by a beautiful barn owl knocking at her window.

The owl had a large envelope tied to its leg and glanced at Hermione expectantly. Luckily Hermione had provided a package of biscuits for this occasion and she quickly broke one in two and gave the first half to the bird. Feeling strangely excited, she opened the letter.

_Miss Granger,_

_My owl will wait for your reply, so I'd ask you (also for your own sake – I gather that even in Cambridge an owl as a pet would raise some eyebrows) not to take too long. I tried some of the ideas we discussed last month and got the following results..._

There followed three tightly written pages in which he described his work and the results, and at the end a simple

_S. Snape,_

nothing else.

Wide awake now, Hermione changed into her clothes and sat down to comment on Snape's results and to make her own suggestions. Two hours later she was finished and tied a rather thick envelope to the owl's leg. She gave it a few more biscuits to placate it until it finally hooted softly and flew out of the window.

Hermione closed the window to keep out the cool winter air, but looked after the bird for a few minutes. It had been the first time that she'd used an owl again ever since she had left the wizarding world.

And now she'd have to wait for another month and for Snape's willingness to continue this...conversation. Hermione sighed. This way of communication was frustratingly slow and complicated, but she was glad that there was some kind of conversation at all. She would have to play this according to Snape's rules and it was very unlikely that he'd change them.

...

Snape couldn't quite prevent his mouth from curling into a small smile when he heard a knocking on his window and saw his owl, burdened with a large envelope. He quickly let the bird in. While he unfastened the letter, the owl clicked his beak disapprovingly.

"Sh, Alcuin," Snape said soothingly. "I'm sorry you had so much to carry but I'm afraid you better get used to it – Miss Granger is not someone who is stingy with words."

"You got a letter from Hermione?"

Snape closed his eyes and cursed silently. He didn't turn but kept on tending to his owl. "Indeed," he said in a noncommittal voice. "I told her about my work on the anti-werewolf-potion, and she was eager to help. As always."

He had finished with his owl and turned reluctantly to face Dumbledore's portrait which looked at him with a rather shrewd expression.

"And you accepted her help?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"She may be annoying but I have to admit she has some interesting ideas. It would be illogical to ignore her just because she's an insufferable know-it-all."

"Do you still think she is?"

Snape snorted. "Perhaps it's got a bit better."

Dumbledore looked at him in silence for a few moments. "You know, in a way she always reminded me of you."

"What?" Snape laughed out in disbelief. But Dumbledore wasn't daunted.

"Muggle born but so eager to be part of our world. So intelligent and ressourceful. So loyal. And so anxious to please…"

Snape shot him an angry glance. "Apart from our intelligence there is no resemblance whatsoever between Miss Granger and myself."

Dumbledore just shrugged his shoulders. "If you think so, Severus. But you'll continue communicating with her?"

Snape hesitated. "As long as I'm working on the potion, and as long as I think her contributions are useful."

"Very well. Then please send my greetings to Miss Granger."

…

Over the following months Hermione found that she eagerly waited for every new letter from Snape. It wasn't as if her studies didn't occupy or satisfy her intellectually, far from it. But working on a cure for lycanthropy was something that really mattered, something that would make the world a bit better.

And although Snape's letters were always impersonal and he was sometimes rather disparaging about her suggestions, at least he still wrote to her. Moreover, she had to admit that his letters, dry as they were, made for fascinating reading. His ideas where sometimes quite brilliant. Hermione got her old Potions books from her parents' to brush up on her knowledge so she wouldn't embarrass herself in front of him. She also started reading medical books on a wide range of topics like genetics, endocrinology and virology.

One day in April she had just finished her letter to Snape when, on a whim, she scribbled a quick P.S.:

_By the way, Professor. They are playing _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ in January. Are you planning to come to Stratford?_

That was the first time that Hermione had mentioned something which didn't touch in some way on the anti-werewolf-potion and she wasn't sure how he'd react. Perhaps he'd find it importunate of her? After all it implied that they might meet there. Well, she'd just have to wait and see.

When Snape wrote his reply, he lingered over the end of the letter. He had been surprised by her question, not sure if he should answer it. If he did, it'd mean that he'd venture out of the secure discussion of his work, out into the murky reaches of more personal conversation. The real question was, did he want that? He hesitated for a few moments, then wrote

_Regarding your question about _A Midsummer Night's Dream_: I have always found Shakespeare's so-called comedies a sad lapse in that great poet's work. Absurd, ludicrous and often far from funny. And, as you should know, his depiction of the fairy world is hardly correct. These plays are endurable for Shakespeare's language alone, if barely so. That said, I don't know yet for certain if I'll subject myself to that play. If you imply however that we could use the time to discuss my research, I might be willing to expose myself to the experience._

_S. Snape_

Hermione couldn't help smiling when she got that letter. Of course he'd claim not to enjoy the comedies! Under her next letter she wrote:

_You are rather harsh on the comedies. While I grant you t__hat some of the passages in them seem hardly funny to us today, even coarse sometimes, wouldn't you agree that there are some great and intelligent comic scenes? What about Beatrice and Benedick, for example? And a good friend of mine, a student of English, could give you lectures on the intellectual complexities of the comedies (even though I'd agree with you that most of the tragedies and histories are more interesting). And what about the works they inspired in return, what about Mendelssohn Bartholdy's music for example?_

_I am however grateful to know that even in spite of your dislike you'd subject yourself to sitting through _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ if that might be coupled with a discussion of your work. So the second weekend in January it is?_

_Yours sincerely, _

_Hermione Granger._

And so started something like a personal conversation in the postscripts of their letters. They never discussed anything but literature and music, but although there were differences of opinions, both of them were surprised to find in the other someone to share their interests to an astonishing degree.

* * *

_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	7. Anniversaries

**Anniversaries**

With Hermione's room full of books on Medicine, Biology and Chemistry, Thomas could hardly fail to notice that she was working on a project which was not part of her studies.

"You're finding Mathematics not stimulating enough?" he asked one night shortly after she had returned from Stratford. He had come to pick her up for the cinema and was leafing through a book on Genetics.

Hermione had debated if she should lie to him about Snape and tell him something about an interdisciplinary university project, but had decided not to. She had already told him more than enough lies and would try to keep them to a necessary minimum.

"I'm helping a former Chemistry teacher of mine," she replied, tying up her shoes and trying to look unconcerned. "He's doing a project on cell mutation as a result of certain environmental poisons."

Thomas furrowed his brows. "But how are you helping him?"

"I was quite good in Chemistry", Hermione said, reaching for her jacket. "And he's utterly at a loss with a computer. I'm programming a database for him, stuff like that."

"Sounds like lots of work beside your studies." Thomas gave her a searching look. "Where you close at school?" He grinned. "Did you have a crush on him?"

Hermione laughed out loud. "Definitely not. I didn't even like him." She immediately regretted saying this. It would make Thomas only more suspicions.

He looked a bit puzzled, but then said with a smile. "I can hardly believe that, you love teachers. And they adore you."

"I love good teachers," Hermione corrected him. "And I'm sorry to say he wasn't a very good one. Not concerning his qualifications, he could have taught at university. But his didactic methods were a catastrophe. For some strange reason, he really hated Harry, and Ron and I got caught up in this. He could be terribly mean."

"But how do you come to help him then?" Thomas asked bewildered.

"Well," Hermione said carefully, "I learned later on that there had been terrible incidents in his past which partly explained his behaviour. I'm sorry," she added, sawing the question on Thomas's face. "I can't tell you, it's rather private."

Thomas didn't seem happy about this, and Hermione went on quickly. "I met him in Stratford. By coincidence. And somehow we started talking and got along surprisingly well. And then he told me about this project of his. And it sounded interesting, so I asked if I could help. Are we going to the cinema now?"

"Sure. Let's go." But Thomas still didn't look wholly convinced and during the following months he would from time to time ask questions which showed Hermione that he was surprised by how much effort she put into her work for Snape. Hermione was worried, but she shrugged it off, trying to resolve his suspicions as well as she could. She liked Thomas a lot, sometimes even thought that she loved him. But her work for Snape was important, not only for herself but perhaps for the whole wizarding world. She wouldn't give that up just because he wasn't happy about it.

**…**

May arrived, and with it the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione knew that most of the wizarding world was rejoicing at that date – it had become a public holiday, no less. But while part of her was certainly glad for the defeat of Voldemort, this had always been overshadowed by far by the pain at the loss of her friends.

Work was helpful, of course, and Hermione was glad for the new challenge that Snape's project presented to her. It kept her mind away from what had happened. But the thoughts and memories she was able to hold at bay during the day came back at night, haunting her in her dreams. And while Hermione feared those dreams, part of her also craved them, for in them she saw Ron and Harry again.

The first two years after their death, she had tried to spend the day alone, far away from anyone who knew what had happened. The muggles were blissfully unaware of the significance of the date and Hermione had hoped that this would ease her pain. But it hadn't, instead the fact that life just went on as usual and that spring was in full swing with life erupting all around her had always seemed like a perverse mockery to her.

For the last two years then Hermione had started to spent part of the day with Ginny. They would sit together and talk, not only about the Battle, but, more importantly, about the good times. About the experiences they had shared, the fun they had had and about Ron's and Harry's little quirks. And they would not only talk about Ron and Harry, but about all those who had died, about Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Sirius, and all the others. They would laugh together and cry together, and although it was always painful it was also cathartic. Hermione was glad that she didn't have to grieve alone anymore.

**…**

Spring turned into summer, summer turned into autumn and Snape made great progresses with his research. He couldn't help admitting to himself that these successes were in parts due to Hermione's suggestions and their discussion of his work. More than once when he was working in his laboratory he caught himself wishing that she were there, that he could talk to her directly, show her how his experiments developed. That was a stupid and ridiculous wish, of course. He was very happy, indeed, that the world left him alone. It would be horrible to have her there with him, wouldn't it? He was certain that it was only due to the sometimes infuriating fussiness of communication by letter that he felt this ridiculous wish for her company. Anyway, he would see her in January in Stratford. Two days in the presence of the over-enthusiastic know-it-all was just as much as he could take for a year.

After a warm September came an uncommonly cool October and Snape felt his spirits sink. It was that time of year again. In October, Lily had died, and even after all those years he still sank into deeper and deeper gloom every time the date drew closer. He wanted to remember Lily – how could he ever want to forget her? But every year he was anew staggered by how much it still hurt. How much he still missed her.

Over the years he had tried various ways to deal with the anniversary. Oh yes, he had tried everything. Denial and repression. Alcohol and drugs to numb the pain. Head-on confrontation, hoping that facing the terror and sorrow would somehow heal him. Nothing had really worked, of course. And finally he had found a certain routine, a mixture of all these possibilities.

For many years he had been a nervous wreck during October. It had got a bit better over the years, though, especially since Voldemort had died. Even though the death of her son had put new weight on his already much burdened mind. But he shuddered to remember those first years right after her death. More than once he had been close to killing himself, being kept from it only by Dumbledore's insistence that he was needed for bringing Voldemort down, and by his own feeling of guilt and shame. To kill himself would have been cowardice. No, he must face what he had done, every year and every day, and atone for it.

It was pathetic, really. That was another way of dealing with the pain, to employ cynicism. Sometimes he would reason with himself, arguing that he should finally get over it. After all, he wasn't a lovesick teenager anymore. And he couldn't change the past. What had happened had happened. But while cynicism had turned out to be so serviceable in all the other areas of his life, here it failed. Even now, after so many years, he'd still give everything to change the past.

There had been a night about twenty years ago, only a few days before the anniversary, when had been prowling the corridors of the castle, not being able to sleep of fear that he'd hear her scream in his dreams. Somehow he had happened upon a door he had never noticed before, the door to a room which had turned out to be completely empty apart from a large mirror.

When Snape had stepped in front of it his heart had nearly stopped. Lily. There she was, smiling and waving at him. He cried out her name and rushed towards her, but there was only the smooth and cold surface of the mirror. There was no way to get to Lily. Snape didn't know what magic it was, but there she was, smiling at him, moving her mouth in silence as if she were talking to him. And that was enough. After a while a new picture emerged. Lily was still there, but she wasn't alone anymore. There was a man with her, and with a jolt Snape realized that the man was himself. But a Snape who was profoundly different. He looked…happy. He smiled. And Lily put an arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder. Snape felt a great lump in his throat and an unbearable feeling of longing. He spent the whole night in the room, his eyes riveted on the mirror and on the scenes it presented to him. Scenes which showed him Lily, or Lily and himself, alive, together and happy. He knew that it was not real, of course. But it didn't matter at all.

In the morning he reluctantly left the room to go and attend to his courses. But as soon as it got dark outside, he returned. Snape came every night for more than three weeks. He grew deadly tired, but there was no quenching the hunger for the pictures the mirror showed him. The life he would never have and the women he had loved and that had died because of him.

His colleagues became more and more worried about him but Snape ignored them. His life during the day seemed more and more unreal and irrelevant to him. The nights were all that mattered.

Until one night a visitor disturbed his vigil.

"So this is how you spend your nights."

Reluctantly Snape tore his eyes away from the mirror. He felt like waking from a dream. Dumbledore was standing right next to him. He had never heard him coming.

"And if I do, what does it matter to you?" He replied, scrambling to his feet.

"Oh Severus," Dumbledore said in a surprisingly sad voice. "You have undoubtedly noticed that the Mirror of Erised shows you your deepest wishes. Nothing more, nothing less. But you must also have noticed its dangers."

"I'm not stupid," Snape growled, meeting Dumbledore's benign eyes with a fierce glance. "But what if I prefer that fake life to my real one?"

"You will die, eventually," Dumbledore replied evenly. "Your real life will mean less and less to you, all that matters will be the mirror and what if shows you. You'll waste away in front of it."

Snape gave a strangled laugh. "And that would be terrible, wouldn't it?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something, but Snape cut him off. "I know, I know. I'm important for the cause. You can't risk losing me, your most precious weapon." His voice was bitter and he met the elder wizard's gaze defiantly. Their eyes locked and there was silence for what seemed like ages. "I will leave the mirror alone", Snape finally said. "After tonight."

Dumbledore nodded. "I am glad. I will have it removed tomorrow."

"You don't trust me?" Snape snarled.

Dumbledore gave him a sad smile, and Snape saw deep sorrow in his bright eyes. "Oh, I trust you. Completely. But I know the mirror. I know it very well. Believe me, it will be better if I remove it."

Snape spent the rest of the night in front of the mirror, drinking in the images it showed him. During the next days he was tormented by its loss, even if deep down part of him was grateful to Dumbledore. And even now, years later, he wished from time to time he knew where the mirror was.

**…**

It was the day of her death. Snape had worked hard all night long and in the morning he had written his monthly letter to Hermione. It wasn't a coincidence, he had to admit that to himself. He needed something to keep his mind occupied.

Her answer arrived in the late afternoon and Snape felt grateful, more grateful than he cared to admit. This would keep him busy for the rest of the day.

He skimmed over the pages and got stuck at the postscript: "Ginny Weasley sends her greetings." Snape felt a brief stirring of…gratefulness. How strange. But somehow he was touched by the fact that the Weasley girl had thought about him. He had had a hard time keeping her safe, that was sure, with the Carrows in Hogwarts and the children trying to defy him in their misguided demonstrations of loyalty to Dumbledore. More than once in that year he had thought that she and the Longbottom boy had suspected that he was not all bad. That was dangerous, of course, dangerous for them and for him. But it had been a…comforting thought nevertheless.

And the Granger girl. Suddenly a thought struck him. Why was she doing all of that? Why was she investing so much time and effort in helping him, communicating with him? It could hardly be because of him, he wasn't that deluded. She didn't even like him, he had made sure of that when he had been her teacher. And yet, their relationship had changed profoundly ever since their first meeting, hadn't it? Still, the reason for her helping him was most likely gratitude because he had saved her life. Or a feeling of guilt, because she had survived while so many had died. Or perhaps she did it for Lupin. Snape's mouth curled into an unpleasant snarl. They all had liked Lupin so much, not knowing what he was. Apart from her, of course. She had been clever enough to realize it soon enough. And yet she had still liked him. Worshipped him, even... It was not that he envied Lupin his popularity with the students, of course not, the thought was preposterous – and yet… Snape shook his head in exasperation. Was he jealous of Lupin, of all people? _Why not_, a traitorous voice whispered in his head. _He was an outsider just like you. But he found friends. Good friends. In the end he even found a woman he loved, and who loved him in return. He had a family. He died a happy man. And now look at you._

But Snape had long ago learned to ignore such futile feelings. And so he took up Hermione's notes and went to the laboratory, to keep his mind from brooding over useless thoughts.

* * *

_Hope you liked it. Merry Christmas to everyone!_


	8. Thwarted

**Thwarted**

Hermione was sitting at her desk, leafing through a book in search of a chemical formula she wanted to show to Snape. It was the evening before she would depart for Stratford and she was busy doing some last minute research. It had been nearly a month since her last correspondence with Snape and she had so many questions and so much to tell him that she could hardly wait to see him again. Several times it had struck her how strange that was – she being eager to meet Snape, of all people. But it was the truth. She was looking forward to seeing him, to talking about his research and her ideas about it. Letters were all well and good, but they couldn't beat personal communication.

Pouring over her books, Hermione cringed from time to time. Ever since lunch, she had had a dull pain in her stomach. Probably something wrong with the food in the cafeteria. She only hoped she wouldn't get ill, it would be highly frustrating to miss the meeting with Snape.

When she finally finished working and went to bed she hardly found any sleep. This was partly because of her excitement, but even more because of the strange pain which just didn't want to go away. In the morning it was even worse. Her train would leave at noon, but if it didn't get better Hermione knew that there would be no use going. When she got down to get her mail, Sam, the elderly porter of her college, shot her a worried glance.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You look rather squeamish."

Hermione gave him a crooked smile. "I'm not feeling too well. I guess I should go and see a doctor."

"Do that, you are as white as a sheet."

Getting on her bike and cycling to the nearest NHS Health Centre proved nearly too much for Hermione. Luckily it wasn't far and she didn't have to wait long. The doctor asked her where it hurt, felt her stomach which made her gasp in pain, and pronounced that it probably was appendicitis. Then he called an ambulance to get her to hospital.

Cursing her bad luck, Hermione didn't know if she was feeling sorrier because of the pain or because that meant that she definitely wouldn't be able to meet Snape. Before the ambulance arrived she only had time to call Thomas and ask him to get a few things out of her room for her. And to phone the hotel in Stratford.

**...**

Snape was waiting. He had told the Granger girl that he'd meet her at the ticket booth at three p.m. It was now ten minutes past three, and she hadn't shown up yet.

Snape furrowed his brow in irritation. He didn't like to be kept waiting. After another ten minutes had passed, he started pacing up and down. What was she thinking letting him wait like this? It was unlike her to be late. Perhaps she had missed her train?

When she still hadn't shown up ten minutes later, Snape bought tickets and left. Perhaps she had phoned the hotel, but when he arrived there, no message was waiting for him.

Snape left again and walked through the streets, feeling increasingly irritable. And what bothered him most was not the fact that she hadn't shown up, but that he was annoyed by it. It seemed that somehow over the last year of correspondence he had started to...look forward to meeting her again. How could he become so dependent on her – a former student he hadn't even liked? Snape shook his head in irritation. It was his isolated life, probably. When you took into account that apart from dead Dumbledore and his house-elf she was the only one he had to talk to, it wasn't that surprising anymore... And she was part of his work now. There were things he wanted to discuss with her, things that were too complex to put in a letter.

When Snape returned to the hotel again shortly before the play started, the concierge told him that there was a message for him. Unfortunately Ms Granger wouldn't be able to come this weekend.

Snape furrowed his brow. "Is that all?" he asked rather irritably, making the man wince. "Didn't she say why she can't come?"

"It was a man who called, and I'm sorry but he didn't give any reason."

Snape glowered at the concierge for a few seconds, then turned and hurried to his room. So she hadn't even called herself, but a man. A friend? A boyfriend? It was to be expected, of course. She wasn't a little girl anymore. How old was she now? 24? Probably even older since she had used the time turner in her third year. And she was not that bad looking. She'd never be a beauty like Lily, but she had a captivating vivacity. And when she got enthusiastic about something she had a certain radiance. He had noticed it when they had spoken about his work. Her eyes had sparkled with intelligence and enthusiasm. No wonder that that should attract someone at a place like Cambridge.

Snape tried to put the girl out of his mind for the rest of the evening and the following day, but she kept stealing back. He was wondering why she hadn't come, and why she hadn't called the hotel herself. Yes, that was it, of course. Him not knowing what had happened and feeling irritated because of it. It wasn't as if he felt that something was...missing. Certainly not. He had been to Stratford on his own for many years, and it had always been rewarding. He certainly didn't need the former Gryffindor know-it-all to make it worthwhile!

Now it would be another year until he'd meet her again. Somehow that seemed like a rather long time. They would have to get back to writing letters again... He would have to send her an owl soon, to find out what had happened since she couldn't send him a message.

When he got home on Sunday, Snape was glad to find that Dumbledore wasn't in his picture. He was certain to be intrigued by Miss Granger's failure to turn up, and Snape wasn't keen on discussing it. Snape sat down at his desk and reached for a piece of parchment, but it took a few minutes before he actually started to write.

_Miss Granger,_

_I hope you are well. You did not miss much, the staging of _Julius Caesar_ was abysmal and _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ hardly better – but what can you expect from such a silly play._

When he had finished this he stopped, his quill poised above the parchment. After a few moments, however, he only added

_S. Snape_

then folded the letter and went to fetch his owl.

**...**

Hermione left the hospital on Monday afternoon. The operation had gone without complications and she felt well if a bit faint.

Thomas brought her home. Shortly after entering her room, she suddenly saw a great bird flying towards her window. Alcuin. Hoping fervently that the owl was clever enough not to knock at her window while Thomas was still with her, she tried to get him out of her room as quickly as possible. Luckily he was easily convinced that she needed rest and left soon.

Meanwhile, the owl had stayed out of the way, but reappeared as soon as Thomas had left, rapping against the window impatiently.

"I'm coming, I'm coming", Hermione murmured while she went to let it in. She didn't know when Snape had sent him and since when he had been waiting for her. To placate the owl, Hermione gave him a biscuit to nibble, then opened the letter. It was rather short, but what else could she hope for.

As soon as she had come out from anaesthesia, Hermione had worried about Snape. She had fretted that she had missed the meeting, had hoped that he had got her message and wondered if now she'd have to wait another year. And then she had decided to propose something to him.

Hermione sat down at her desk and took a piece of paper. On it she wrote

_Professor,_

_Thank you for your question, the operation went well. I am very sorry that I missed our meeting – there is so much I'd like to discuss with you and it's hard to put it all in a letter._

_Might I therefore propose another meeting, if that is convenient for you? Perhaps in London?_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger _

Alcuin seemed less than eager to get a new job so soon, but Hermione placated him with another biscuit and finally he set off. And Hermione was left to wait, wondering if with this proposition she had pushed their fragile relationship too far.

**...**

When Snape read Hermione's letter he furrowed his brow. An operation? That sounded serious. The concierge had said nothing about that. And she wanted to meet him... He put down the letter and looked out of the window.

She was right, of course. To communicate by letter was annoyingly slow and complicated. Just like her he didn't want to wait until next January to discuss his work. But if he gave in now, if he agreed to meet her, he'd open a door which could hardly be closed again. To see her once per year in Stratford was bearable – after all, they both went there for the plays, to meet each other had been a coincidence. But if he agreed to meet her in London it would be for no other purpose than to see her and talk to her. And who knew if she wouldn't want to repeat this. The girl was so eager to help that she'd probably want to meet more often.

He didn't think he was ready for this. He liked his solitude, the fact that nobody knew for sure that he was still alive, the certainty that, finally after all these years, there was nobody who had claims on him. At last he was free.

Unbidden a memory came into his mind. Him and Lily sitting at the edge of the lake late on an autumn day in their fourth year. She had been worried for him because of his lack of friends. He had tried to make light of her worries, telling her, his heart beating fast, that she was all the friends he needed. And she had looked at him with a tiny smile, her face still worried, and said, "Sev, I'm flattered, but it really pains me to see how isolated you are. You should try to…to open up to people. You always look so forbidding to everyone else, no wonder they think you strange or are afraid of you."

He snorted. "They are afraid of me?"

"Oh yes, you have quite a reputation." She trailed off but held his gaze, looking very serious now. "Sev, I know you're not like that. I know you can be a great friend. And I know you think it's a risk not worth taking. But where would we be if we never took any risks." Suddenly she grinned mischievously, "I don't want you to end up a pathetic old loner."

Snape shook his head. "I won't as long as you're still my friend," he said very quietly. She started to speak but he quickly added, "alright, I'll try to be a bit more sociable. There, are you satisfied?"

She gave him her dazzling smile which made him feel very warm inside, and nodded. "I am, Sev."

_It hadn't really worked out the way Lily hoped, though_, Snape thought as he was staring out of the window. He had opened up to other people, but as it turned out it had been the wrong people and his friendship with them had eventually cost him Lily. His mouth twisted into a sad and bitter smile. How ironic. And now he had become an old loner after all. Perhaps even pathetic. What would Lily say if she saw him like this?

The thought was painful, like scratching a wound that should be left alone. But Snape could imagine very well what she'd think about him. She'd probably look at him with her mocking smile and say, "Severus, Severus, so finally you've found yourself a little friend. One whom you didn't manage to frighten away with your coldness and snarling disdain. And it's Hermione Granger, who by many was considered the cleverest witch of her age, even though you never acknowledged it. Someone who can appreciate your intelligence and work….who can perhaps even understand what you did…"

Snape closed his eyes. The Granger girl didn't know half of what he had done, otherwise she'd probably run away as fast as possible.

"But she isn't a girl anymore," he heard Lily's soft, mocking voice. "You must have noticed. She is older than I was when I died…"

Snape clenched his fingers, trying to get the voice out of his head. But Lily was not shaken off so lightly.

"And it is thanks to you that she's still alive. You held her back, otherwise she'd now probably be as dead as I am. As Harry and Ron are…" Snape clenched his fingers even more and turned abruptly away from the window, pacing up and down his study instead. "Let her help you, Sev," the voice still whispered in his head. "She is a clever girl, she'll see behind your mask and appreciate you – perhaps eventually even like you. As I did. And she might need you. You saved her, you have an obligation to her. And who knows, perhaps you might need her, too. You know I don't want you to be alone."

Finally the voice stopped but Snape was still pacing up and down the room. _That's what you get from waking the ghosts of the past_, he thought ruefully. Eventually he stopped in front of a window and looked out into the dark winter night. Nearly an hour passed, then he went to his desk, took a piece of parchment and wrote

_Miss Granger,_

_I will meet you on February 15th at 1.30 pm in London in front of the Cabinet War Rooms._

_S. Snape_

* * *

_Thanks a lot for your reviews, they really are a great motivation._

_I hope you aren't frustrated with the slow pace Snape's and Hermione's relationship is going, but as those who have read my other story, _A Touch of Frost_, know, I think it's more realistic that way (and I also find it more fun to read and write)._

_All the best for 2009!_


	9. London

**London**

Hermione had always liked the stately grandeur of London's government district and especially St James Park, even though now in February it was still rather bleak. Since she had arrived a bit early she walked from Trafalgar Square and spent some time strolling around the park. She had to admit she was a bit nervous. After all this was a real meeting, not just some conversation in Stratford. Apart from her laptop, Hermione had also brought a large rucksack full of books, and when she finally arrived at the Cabinet War Rooms she put the two bags down with a sigh. After a few minutes she spotted the familiar shape of Snape coming down the steps from the Foreign Office.

"Professor Snape," she said with a smile, "I'm glad you agreed to this meeting."

"Miss Granger," he said with an inclination of his head. Then he looked at the rucksack and her laptop, and Hermione thought she saw a small smile tuck at his mouth. "These are yours?"

She nodded.

"You shouldn't carry so much." He threw a quick look around, to check that nobody was watching, then whipped out his wand and shrunk the rucksack until it was small enough to fit into Hermione's pocket. "We don't have to go far," he said and made to leave.

Hermione had been wondering why he had wanted to meet her at this place. There weren't many restaurants around and she had no idea where else he'd take her. They went towards the Houses of Parliament, but duck into a small alley at their back. After a few minutes Snape stopped in front of an inconspicuous looking 19th century building. There was a polished brass plate next to the door, pronouncing it to be the Westminster Club.

"This is a muggle club, isn't it?" Hermione asked surprised. "You're a member here?" She hadn't taken Snape to be the type for this.

"Indeed I am," he said, ringing the bell. "It's a good place to stay when I am in London. You can spent the night here, get food, rooms, everything. And they are very discreet. No one cares who you are and what you do."

"I see. Will they even let me in? I gather it's all male?"

"It is, but women are allowed to visit."

The door opened and revealed what looked like a real butler. He obviously knew Snape and greeted him with "Mr. Prince", then let them in and led them up a wide staircase and through a series of wood panelled rooms. It looked just as Hermione would have imagined it, very 19th century, very British Empire and very male. They stopped in a mid-sized room with a long table in it, obviously some kind of conference room. Like everything else, it was panelled with dark wood, but there were windows along the whole front and so it was bright enough.

"I booked this room so we could talk without interruption," Snape explained. He sat down at the far end of the table and Hermione took the chair around the corner so she could face him. She got out her shrunken rucksack and, after casting some spells so they wouldn't be overheard, Snape de-shrunk it again. Hermione then took out her books and looked for the ones she'd need first.

"I hope you are well?" Snape suddenly asked.

She looked up. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you. It was only an appendicitis, after all."

Snape's face was unreadable. "That's the reason you were in hospital?"

"Yes." She furrowed her brow. "I thought you knew – so you didn't?"

He shook his head. "When I came to the hotel the concierge only told me that you wouldn't be able to come."

Hermione was puzzled. "Then either my boyfriend forgot to tell him, or the concierge forgot to tell you." She felt a bit irritated. Was it the concierge's fault? And if not, why hadn't Thomas delivered her message the way she had asked him to? She'd ask him about it when she got back. "It was really bad timing," she went on with a crooked smile. "It started just hours before I wanted to set out for Stratford. I'm really sorry I left you standing there like that."

Snape shook his head. "Don't worry. Now, I think we have some work to do." He started telling her the newest developments in his work and then it was Hermione's time to ask questions and make suggestions. When there was a knocking on the door, and the butler entered bringing tea and sandwiches, Hermione was surprised to find that it was already four o'clock.

She hadn't felt so intellectually stimulated for a long time. At the beginning Hermione had been a bit uncertain how the meeting would go, after all they hadn't seen each other for over a year and even with the letters their relationship had been hardly more than tentative. But now she found that although Snape didn't always agree with her and could still be rather sarcastic, he seemed to accept her as an equal. Hermione found that she enjoyed their discussions and minor quarrels surprisingly much. And the intellectual passion and inquisitiveness he showed reminded her of herself. How extraordinary. Hermione threw him a furtive look. It was intriguing, this mixture of control and passion. Until now she had only ever seen the dark side of it, had seen his control slip when he was very angry. She would never have thought to find something like a kindred spirit…

Snape was leafing through one of the books on genetics she had brought with her. "Do you really think this will help?" he asked with a slight snarl.

Hermione sighed internally. She had found that Snape was less than willing to acknowledge the usefulness of muggle-research. "I'm not sure, but I think it might be worth looking into. The muggles might not be able to do magic, but you have to agree that they make up for it quite well." She pointed at her laptop. "A computer for example can be highly useful. You could use one to organize your data, it's certainly more practical than parchment and quills."

Snape didn't seem impressed. "I don't set much store on those muggle trinkets", he said, a derogatory smile on his face. "I've always found our resources quite sufficient. But if _you_ need them... I guess it's hard to work without magic..."

Hermione was surprised and stung by this comment. He of all people knew well enough why she hadn't stayed in the wizarding world. "I would have thought you would be more open-minded about muggles and their achievements," she said, meeting his gaze defiantly. "After all you are the Half-Blood Prince, aren't you?"

Anger flared up in his eyes, so fierce Hermione shrank back a little. She hadn't expected him to react like this.

"And why should that make me keener on muggle toys?" He said in a very cold voice. "My parentage has nothing to do with the way I work. You don't know anything about this."

"Oh, I don't know, do I?" Hermione said, nettled. "I don't know what it feels like to be a muggle-born suddenly thrust into the magical world? A world in which most people look down on me, look down on my parents and everything their world has achieved? In which people call me Mudblood and in which, however much I try, and however much I achieve, some will never accept me?"

Snape looked at her with a stony face but didn't say anything. This only further irritated Hermione. "Did you know that Harry really loved your book?" she went on in a casual tone, giving in to a reckless urge to break his complacency. "He felt a strong connection to the Half-Blood Prince, he thought they were rather similar, and that…"

Hermione never finished. Snape's face contorted with anger and he got up abruptly. In the process he caught the teapot with his left arm and knocked it over, causing scaling hot tea to pour over Hermione's arm which had been lying on the table. She stifled a cry of surprise and pain, then shouted "The books!" and reached out for them to get them away from the spilt tea.

When the hot liquid hit Hermione, Snape froze for a few seconds but then helped her to get the books and reached for his wand to let the tea disappear. "Are the books alright?" he asked, his voice controlled again.

"Yes, they are." Hermione looked up from the books, not sure what to expect now. There was no expression in his face she could interpret.

"Show me your arm," Snape said flatly.

Cautiously Hermione went to him and undid the wet sleeve of her blouse, then held her arm up to him for inspection. The inner side of her wrist was an angry red.

Snape took up his wand again and cast a spell to dry her sleeve. "A burn salve would be better," he said matter-of-factly, "but since we don't have any I'll use a spell to sooth the pain. Refrigerate!" Sudden wonderful coolness enveloped Hermione's underarm. When it vanished after a few seconds, most of the pain had gone as well and the angry red of the skin was fading.

"How is it?" Snape asked.

Hermione flexed her fingers tentatively. "It's fine, thanks. I feel hardly any pain."

"We'll repeat it before you go. You should be fine tomorrow." He fell silent and Hermione suddenly noticed how close she was standing to him and backed away a little.

"I am sorry," Snape said abruptly. His voice wasn't dispassionate any longer, but what there was in it Hermione didn't know.

She looked up at him in surprise. "It wasn't your fault. It was an accident."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry for getting angry. It…my relationship to the muggle world has never been easy." He looked away for a few moments, but then met her eyes again. "My parents…their marriage was not what you'd call happy. Far from it." A bitter smile was playing around his mouth. "My father was the muggle, and his behaviour didn't make me love the muggle world."

"I am sorry," Hermione said quietly.

Snape made an impatient gesture. "You needn't be." He hesitated again. "But I can assure you that my relationship with my father never let me to believe that Voldemort or his minions were right in their condemnation of muggle-borns." There was a surprising urgency in his voice now, and his black eyes were burning with an intensity Hermione had only ever seen when he was really angry. "I never thought you didn't belong to Hogwarts," he went on, "or that you were less worth than a pure-blood Slytherin."

Hermione felt a bit overwhelmed by his seriousness. "I…thank you," she said, meeting his dark gaze without fear.

They stared at each other silently for a few moments, then Snape broke the spell. "Well, shall we go on?"

Hermione nodded and sat down again, her head spinning. So Snape had had a bad childhood? Well, that might explain a lot. Poor man. But it still didn't explain why he had freaked out when she had mentioned Harry. What was it with him and Harry that made him lose control even after his death? Hermione shot him a quick look, but decided that she certainly wouldn't risk asking him.

Snape glanced up from the notes he had been studying and caught her looking at him. "You wanted to show me a book on genetics, I think?" he said, and Hermione was glad for an excuse to look away so he wouldn't see her blush.

* * *

_Thanks to all of you who stay with this story and especially to all reviewers!_


	10. Questions

**Questions**

Hermione turned away from Snape to get the muggle book she wanted to show him and Snape was glad that he didn't have to face her inquisitive gaze for a few moments. How could he have exploded like that? He had always had a temper, and James or his son had been a sure way to bring it out, but both had been dead for years now. It hadn't only been her questions about his relationship to the muggle-world, or her words about Potter – although her claim that the boy had felt a kind of kinship with the Half-Blood Prince had been alarming enough – no, it had been his guilt about what he had done to Lily. Him calling her Mudblood, the greatest mistake of his life, the one that had cost him everything. But him losing his temper at the girl had solved nothing. He had only hurt her, had reminded her of the way he had treated her all those years ago. For the next minutes, their conversation was rather strained. There was a cautious, tense expression in the girl's face reminiscent of the way she had looked at him when she had been his pupil. Not quite as bad, though. Suddenly Snape became aware of how accustomed he had grown to her frank behaviour, her fearless small quarrels with him. He…missed it. Snape watched her scribbling some mathematical calculations on a piece of paper, completely lost in her work. A small smile tucked at his mouth. She had thought of the books first, of course. Not of her arm, but of rescuing the books. How typical.

The atmosphere remained strained for a while, but eventually the two got so engrossed in discussing the anti-werewolf-potion that it was as if nothing had happened. Outside the sun was sinking and its low rays were falling in beams through the windows, enveloping the girl. Her untameable hair, which she had originally wound in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, had got more and more lose, and now there was a halo of thin, wispy hairs surrounding her face, shining copper in the sunlight. Several times Snape caught himself staring at the way the sun struck those fiery reflexes, strangely fascinated by it. Luckily the girl never noticed him looking at her.

When nearby Big Ben struck six o'clock, Snape cleared his throat. "How much time do you have?"

"My train leaves at quarter to nine. Why?"

"How about dinner? We can eat here, if you like."

She looked torn. "Now you mention it, I'm actually quite hungry. But there's still so much I'd like to discuss."

She fell silent and Snape's thoughts were racing. She was right, there were lots of things they hadn't talked about yet. "We could meet another time," he heard himself say, certainly as surprised as she was. "Perhaps next month?"

Her face brightened and her eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm that touched him in a strange way. "That would be great. I'll have to check my appointments, but I'm sure there'd be time for it. Should we meet here again?"

Snape, still puzzled by the fact that he had invited the girl to another meeting, only nodded. They worked for one more hour, then Hermione packed her books and Snape shrunk them again. He also performed the cooling spell once more.

They left the room and went through several other rooms to the dining room. There were only three elderly men sitting there, deep in conversation. They looked up when they entered and shot the girl a surprised glance before they turned back to their conversation. Snape led her to a table at the far end of the room, then they ordered and waited for the food to arrive. The easy atmosphere had vanished again. The girl looked nervous and Snape was wondering what on earth they should talk about now. Perhaps he should continue discussing work? Instead he tried some small talk. "How is Miss Weasley?"

The girl looked at him in surprise. "Very well, as far as I know. I talked to her just last week and she told me that she was going to spend a few days with Teddy Lupin, you know, Remus's son..." her voice trailed off and she looked at him a bit uneasy, obviously uncertain how he'd react to this topic.

"I see," he said, his voice noncommittal. "I thought he was living with his grandmother?"

"Oh, he is usually, but she's close friends with the Weasleys and Teddy knows them very well. Andromeda went to visit some friends in the USA and asked Arthur and Molly to look after him."

"I see."

There was silence for a few moments, then suddenly the girl asked, "I wonder...what was Remus like as a child?"

Snape raised his eyebrow in surprise. "Remus? Well, he was the...least unpleasant of the bunch." He tried to control his voice, but there was a definite snarl in it and he saw resentment build up in the girl's eyes. With great effort he fought down the mixture of humiliation, anger and pain that always welled up in him when he thought about this part of his youth. "He was intelligent," he conceded after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, his voice level now. The girl relaxed visibly. "Rather shy, and I guess very lonely at first. Before he found his friends... He tried to check Potter's and Black's worst excesses, but I'm afraid he wasn't very successful." He shot the girl a questioning look. "Why are you asking?"

"Oh, I was just wondering."

"You liked him, didn't you?" he said, surprised at his own question.

"Yes, I did." There was a sudden expression of sadness in her brown eyes. They were large and very articulate, so unable to hide her feelings. "He was a good man. And a good teacher."

"Much better than I was, I'm sure," Snape replied without thinking, his disdainful voice not quite masking his bitterness.

Her eyes widened in shock. "I, I didn't mean that."

"No, but you thought it."

Her face was tense but she met his gaze unflinchingly. "No, I didn't think that," she said very quietly. "I never compared you to him. And you can hardly be surprised that I call him a good DADA teacher, after all I had only had Quirrell and Lockhard before him."

Snape snorted. "You're right, that's hardly a competition." He looked away for a few seconds, angry that he had voiced his thoughts, but when he turned back he found the girl still observing him.

"I never doubted your qualifications, your knowledge and intelligence," she said very seriously.

"But you found my didactic skills somewhat lacking?" he asked in a mocking tone.

A tentative smile flitted across her face. "They were rather...ideosyncratic."

Snape chuckled. The sound seemed to surprise her, but she caught herself quickly. "Professor," she said hesitantly, "there is something I'd like to ask you. You don't have to answer, if you don't want to."

Snape felt a dark feeling of foreboding. "Well, go on and ask, then."

The girl looked at him nervously. "The way you treated us...Gryffindors...and Harry, Ron and me. Was it part of your cover?" There was a very vulnerable expression in her eyes, an urgent need to know the truth.

His breath caught for a second. He hadn't expected this. She basically asked if he had really been an evil bastard – or if it had just been pretence. She gave him the possibility to explain his treatment of her and her friends as part of his cover. The possibility to clear himself of her bad opinion. If he lied. Snape hesitated. Whatever he'd answer, it'd define what she'd think about him. It struck him that for some strange reason, this mattered. How had that happened? But though he found that he didn't want her to think bad of him, he wouldn't lie. "Some of it was," he said, trying very hard not to betray any emotion.

She held his gaze in silence for a few seconds, then nodded. "Thank you," she said.

"Miss Granger," he added, unable to stop himself. "I never wanted to be a teacher. I never particularly liked it – and I'm sure most of my pupils would have preferred me to chose another career. I have no illusions about that. But Dumbledore thought it necessary for me to stay at Hogwarts, and so I did. That doesn't excuse anything – and I'm not saying that I want to excuse my way of teaching in the first place. But it might explain some of my behaviour."

She nodded slowly. There were still questions in her eyes, and Snape knew that he had hardly answered them – she still didn't know if he had genuinely despised her and had taken pleasure in putting her and her friends down, as it had always seemed – but she had obviously realized that that was as far as he was willing to go. They both stayed silent, but before the silence could become too uncomfortable their food arrived.

"Professor, might I ask you another question?" the girl asked tentatively after a while. Snape looked up from his food, wondering uncomfortably what she'd want to know now, but nodded nevertheless.

"It was you who sent us the sword of Gryffindor, wasn't it?"

Snape relaxed. This question was harmless enough, even though it showed that the girl was still wondering why he had helped them if he had loathed them so much. "Yes," he replied.

"How did you know where we were?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "I've been wondering about this for years."

"Phineas Nigellus heard you talking about your location when you opened your bag. He reported it to Dumbledore and he told me to take the sword to you."

"And of course you couldn't show yourself to us," the girl nodded, her eyes bright because now something she had wondered about made sense. "So you sent your Patronus to get Harry?"

"Yes." For an uncomfortable moment Snape was wondering if the girl knew about Lily's Patronus. But it was highly unlikely, and even if, she'd never make the connection. It was just too unbelievable.

"But why all the stuff with the lake?" she wondered. "Ron and Harry nearly froze to death."

"It was Dumbledore's wish," Snape said with a shrug. "He emphasized that the sword must be taken under conditions of need and valour."

She gave him a crooked smile. "He had it all planned, hadn't he?"

"Oh yes," Snape said with a light snort. "But Dumbledore made very sure that no one knew all his plans." Even after all those years this lack of trust still hurt.

The girl – no, he should stop seeing her as the student she wasn't anymore – the young woman who sat across from him was watching him carefully. "You know, sometimes I wonder how much of what happened was planned by him," she said slowly.

"You mean if Dumbledore had a great master plan right from the start? I've been wondering about this myself. But you becoming friends with Potter and Weasley wasn't, if that's what you mean."

"I'm glad you say that," she replied. "I definitely hope so. I don't like the thought that everything was somehow orchestrated by Dumbledore... But sometimes I wonder if I was ever more than a pawn in his great plan."

She looked very vulnerable and Snape felt a strange kind of ache and understanding. "Dumbledore regrets the death of Potter and Weasley very much," he said, glad to find his voice as dispassionate as ever.

"Oh, I know that," she replied. "And I know he had to do what he had to do, otherwise Voldemort wouldn't be dead now." She looked down on her plate, obviously engrossed in her food. "Harry never believed that he was just a part of Dumbledore's great plan," she went on quietly. "He believed that he really loved him, that he was something of the loving grandfather he never had. Right until the end. Then of course he knew otherwise."

"Dumbledore did love him," Snape found himself say. And with a jolt he realized that what he was feeling was jealousy. Jealousy for the love and trust Dumbledore had always given the boy. _How pathetic_, he thought. _And yet. What would have happened if Dumbledore had taken care of me like that when I was a boy? Wouldn't that have kept me away from Voldemort's influence?_ The thoughts and implications made his head spin. Suddenly he realized that she was looking at him with a slightly puzzled but attentive expression and he quickly rearranged his face in the dispassionate mask that had served him so well over all those years. So well that sometimes he was wondering what his real face was like. "He did love him," Snape went on. "And I'm sure he suffers because of all the pain he put on the boy. But sacrifices had to be made."

She held his gaze, her eyes wide with pain and understanding. "I know," she finally said and turned towards her food again. They ate mostly in silence, but it was not an uncomfortable stillness. When they had nearly finished she suddenly said, "Professor...I think I once wrote you about a friend of mine, John, a great fan of Shakespeare."

"I think you did," Snape replied, glancing up from his plate and finding her looking at him with a nervous expression.

"Well, he's finished his studies and is now working at the RSC."

"How interesting."

"He's working at a new production of _Anthony and Cleopatra_ which will premier in July in Stratford," she went on. "And he said that I could come to the premiere if I liked. And that I could bring a friend. So I thought, well, perhaps you'd be interested... Of course we could work there as well..."

Snape was surprised. This was not a request to come and meet her to discuss work. This was...what was it? An invitation to spend time with her as a friend? And she had asked him, and not her boyfriend. He suddenly realized that she was still looking at him rather nervously. "I…guess I could come," he said.

Her eyes lit up for a second and she smiled in relief. "Great, I'm sure it'll be a good staging."

"I certainly hope so," he said, his sarcastic tone masking the confusion in which her invitation had left him.


	11. Dilemmas

**Dilemmas**

Hermione spent the following evening with Thomas. He had called her in the morning and surprised her with the proposal to cook dinner and borrow a DVD for them to watch in his room. When she arrived at his college he was still deep in preparation for what looked like a three-course meal.

"You've been watching Jamie Oliver again?" Hermione asked, amused.

Thomas grinned. "Indeed." He gave the contents of the pot in front of him a rather suspicious look. "But on TV it looked kind of different."

"I'm sure it's great. Can I help you?"

Thomas told her what to do and half an hour later they sat down to what on TV had been called "French surprise dinner". Hermione, who knew that Thomas had little cooking experience, had had misgivings, but found that the meal, although it was hardly French, was actually quite nice. When they had been eating for a few minutes Thomas suddenly asked, "So how was London?"

"It was good, very productive." Hermione hesitated a little. Somehow she had the feeling that he wouldn't like to hear what she was about to tell him. During the last weeks Thomas had had some problems with his studies and consequently had been in a bad mood, and she didn't want to say something that would irritate him. And she had been looking forward to this evening with him, and didn't want to ruin it. On the other hand, her work with Snape was important to her and she wouldn't let her boyfriend dictate whom she was allowed to see. So she finally went on. "Actually we decided to meet on a regular basis from now on. The first Friday of every month."

Thomas furrowed his brow. "Is that necessary? Can't you communicate by telephone or e-mail?"

"It's much better if we discuss it face to face," she replied, trying not to show the worry and irritation she felt.

"If you say so."

He didn't say anything else and finally Hermione asked quietly, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing." But his tense face told her that he was lying.

"That's not true. Are you jealous?" she asked in a joking tone to dissipate the tense atmosphere.

"Should I?" He threw her a searching glance.

"God no! I told you I never had a crush on him."

They ate in silence for a while, then Thomas suddenly said. "I guess I just don't understand why you get so involved in his work. After all you have your real studies as well. And with my work we have hardly any time for each other."

"I understand that," Hermione replied. "But I promise you our time together won't be touched by this." She paused, unsure if she should go on, but she wanted to know. "When I got ill in January and you called the hotel in Stratford, did you tell them what was the matter with me? Or did you only tell them that I wouldn't be coming?"

Thomas threw her a surprised glance. "Why?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "My teacher didn't know what had happened. I just felt bad about that."

"I don't remember," Thomas stated in a non-committal tone.

They went on eating in silence. When they had finished the main course Thomas got up to fetch the dessert, but then stopped. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said quietly. "I know my reaction is a bit extreme. I just don't like that you hardly tell me anything about what you're doing with this guy. I feel shut out. And I don't like you to spend so much of your precious free time on his work."

Hermione got up, touched by his excuse and troubled by her bad conscience, and hugged him, holding him close. "I know," she whispered into his ear. "But I promise you have nothing to worry."

They stayed holding each other for a few moments until Thomas pulled away. "Listen, when you got to London to see him next month I could pick you up afterwards and we could go to the cinema, or theatre."

He looked enthusiastic. Hermione nodded and smiled although she wasn't happy about his idea. Somehow she wanted to keep the two worlds of her life as far away from each other as possible. "Sure, good idea."

Thomas' mood was much better afterwards, but Hermione was left wondering how she felt about Snape meeting her boyfriend. She hated lying to Thomas about her work, about her past, about so many things. For quite a while now she had been wondering why she didn't just tell him the truth and be done with it, but something held her back. Hermione wasn't sure if she feared his reaction, the disbelief and confusion, or if she was afraid that this would change or even destroy their relationship. She just knew that she wasn't ready for it yet.

…

The meetings with Snape meant lots of extra work for Hermione. Because of her promise to Thomas it also meant less sleep since she worked mostly at night. More than once she thought with a wry smile that, even though she was no longer Snape's student, she still wanted to impress him by working extra hard. But there was no doubt that she enjoyed the challenge and was looking forward to the meetings. Snape's research went along quickly, and Hermione prided herself in the suspicion that not a small amount of that was due to her involvement.

When she met Snape for the next time in March, Thomas wasn't able to come to London, and secretly Hermione was glad for it. Just like the time before, they stopped working at seven and Snape insisted on treating her to dinner at his club.

But a few days before they were to meet in April, Thomas said he'd come to pick her up afterwards. So when Hermione met Snape on Friday she waited until they had settled down in the by now customary room and then said, "Professor, I'm sorry but I won't be able to stay for dinner tonight."

"Oh," Snape replied, feeling a sudden jolt of disappointment.

"I'm going to the cinema," she went on, looking uncomfortable. "My boyfriend is picking me up."

"I see," Snape said in a noncommittal tone. He turned back to leafe through his notes, trying to ignore a sudden feeling of irritation. "Is he a muggle?" he asked abruptly.

She looked up from her book, obviously surprised at his question. "Yes, he is. And what's more, he's an American."

Snape's mouth curled into a faint smile. "How extraordinary. Does he know what we are doing here?"

"Not exactly," Hermione replied, again looking uncomfortable. "I haven't told him about me being a witch and everything."

Snape looked at her searchingly. "I see," he said.

"I know I should tell him," she went on, "it's just… it's complicated."

He shook his head. "You don't have to justify yourself." And he turned back to browsing through his notes.

At seven Snape brought her to the door of the club. A young man was waiting outside and he smiled and his eyes lit up as soon as he spotted her. Her boyfriend, obviously. He had an open, intelligent face, but there was nothing extraordinary about him. But there had been nothing extraordinary about the Weasley boy, had there? The young man went up the stairs to the door and kissed her, but she turned away quickly, as if she were embarrassed.

"Professor," she said, "this is Thomas Fisher. Thomas, this is Professor Snape."

"Professor," the young man said, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you were her former chemistry teacher?"

Snape met the young man's challenging look. "At our school it was customary to address the teachers as professors," he replied smoothly, then turned to Hermione. "Enjoy the film. I'll see you next month, Miss Granger?"

"You will. Have a nice evening."

Her boyfriend inclined his head a little. "Good evening," he said rather stiffly, then the two of them walked away.

Snape stood watching them walking down the road. The young man had put his arm around her. No, he wasn't extraordinary at all, he wasn't even particularly attractive. Snape was wondering what she saw in him. But it had been the same with Weasley, hadn't it? Somehow he had the feeling that the young man resented him, but why? Was he jealous? Snape gave a short laugh. The thought of it! He remained on the porch watching them until they turned around a corner. Then he went back into the house.

…

"So that's your famous teacher," Thomas said when they had turned the corner.

Hermione shot him a glance. He looked smug and seemed in a very good mood. "Yes." She narrowed her eyes. "You seem pleased with something. Can I take it you no longer think I have a crush on him?"

He bowed down and gave her a quick kiss. "Sorry I doubted you. But yes, I absolutely believe you now. He's just not your type."

"And why's that?" Hermione asked, amused.

"He's far too stiff and cold. Quite forbidding. Not a nice fellow like I am."

Hermione wanted to defend Snape but then stopped herself. It was good that Thomas felt no longer threatened and she didn't want to ruin it. "No one is as nice as you are," she replied with a large grin and laid her head on his shoulder.

…

Hermione was dreaming. The anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts was drawing near, and with it the familiar nightmare had started again. She was running through the Forbidden Forest, trying to keep up with Ron. But she wasn't fast enough, she couldn't see well in the darkness and roots and branches made her stumble. She knew she had to catch up with Ron, had to prevent him from doing something stupid, but she just couldn't reach him, try as she might. She was running towards a bright light shining through the trees, and suddenly stumbled out of the forest onto a clearing. Harry was standing there, opposite Voldemort, their wands connected by a blinding stream of light which also surrounded their bodies. Then suddenly she saw Ron, saw him raise his and shout "Stupefy!" Then everything happened as in slow motion. Ron's spell hit Voldemort – the strange light that was pulsating between Harry and Voldemort reached out through the sudden new connection and enveloped Ron – and she screamed out in desperation. He had looked so surprised.

Hermione made to run towards them, her head spinning and her heart beating fast in horror. But then suddenly someone held her back. She didn't discern at first who it was, she just tried to get away from him, towards her friends. At one point her frenzied mind realized that it was Snape. His face was fierce and his dark eyes flashed threateningly as he stared down on her and forced her to let go of her wand. She fought him even harder then, but he was just too strong for her.

Until that point the dream ran as it had so many times before. But then it changed abruptly. Snape was still holding her in a tight embrace, his body blocking her view of the clearing. But somehow she had stopped fighting. She knew what she would find when he let go of her, knew that there was nothing she could do. And all she felt was sadness and a deep weariness.

Suddenly she noticed that he was talking to her. She couldn't quite make out his words, but they were soothing. He was still holding her tight, but not as if he were trying to constrain her. "The war is over," she heard him say softly. "Everything is alright now."

"No, it isn't," she replied and looked up into his face. He looked different. The dispassionate mask that she had only seen him shed on very rare occasions, and mostly only when he was really angry, was gone. _So this is his real face_, she thought wonderingly. There was great sadness in it, but also relief and triumph. And a strange tenderness that sent a sudden jolt through her body.

"You are right, it is not," he said. They looked at each other and it was as if she was seeing him for the first time, as if they knew and understood each other completely. Suddenly he bent down and kissed her softly, holding her close. And for a moment everything was indeed alright.

Hermione woke up, her heart hammering like mad, her lips still feeling the ghost of Snape's kiss. It was half past four in the morning but she felt wide awake. Good Lord. She had had erotic dreams before, of course, but this was different. What did it mean? It wasn't as if she wanted to go out and snog Snape, was it? The thought was preposterous. She laughed, but it was a very weak laugh. Two years ago she would have found the thought repulsive... But things had changed, hadn't they? Did the dream mean that she felt attracted to Snape? Had Thomas been right with his jealousy? Or was it only that she sought comfort with him because he had been there when Ron and Harry had died? Or was it both? She stared out into the darkness of her room, going over the dream again and again. _It was only a dream_, she tried to calm herself down. _Only a dream. Nobody can be held responsible for their dreams, can they? I'm not falling for Snape, I certainly am not! He was a terrible and cruel teacher, a Death Eater, thoroughly mean and unpleasant. He has done terrible, terrible things, and even if he atoned for them or did them only as part of his work as a spy, he's damaged by them. It's absolutely impossible that I should feel more than pity and admiration and friendship. It'd be terrible..._ But as much as Hermione reasoned with herself, she couldn't find any sleep and got up an hour later, trying to find diversion in a complicated mathematical problem.

…

A few days after the dream Hermione came back to her college, picked up her mail, exchanged a few sentences with the porter Sam and went up the stairs to her floor. She had just arrived at the first landing when a groan and a dull thud made her turn around. Sam had dropped out of view. "Sam?" she asked, and when no answer came she quickly went down the stairs. She found him lying in his small porter's lodge, his face ashen and his body lifeless.

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, staring down on him but seeing not the old porter, but the last bodies she had seen like that. Ron and Harry. It lasted only a second, then she quickly went into the lodge and knelt down next to him, her heart racing. She felt for his pulse and a wave of relief washed over her as she found it, very faint but existent. Hermione got up, looked around the room wildly, spotted the phone and called an ambulance, surprised at how calm her voice sounded. Then she knelt down again, checked that Sam's mouth and nose were free, shoved her jacket under his head and spread his coat over him. Hermione called his name, trying to wake him up, but he didn't react. He didn't hear her, just as Ron and Harry hadn't heard her.

_Don't die on me_, Hermione thought fervently, her heart racing. _Don't die!_ The minutes seemed like hours. There was nothing she could do and she felt terribly helpless. _If I had my wand I could do so much more_, she thought frantically. _I could check his vitals, perform a strengthening charm. _A terrible thought was hammering in her mind._ If he dies now it'll be my fault. Just because I decided I didn't want to do magic anymore. My fault. Oh please, please don't die on me!_

After what seemed like eternity she heard the horn of the ambulance. People rushed into the college and immediately took care of Sam. They pronounced him stable, said that he had probably had a heart attack but had good chances, and Hermione felt a great weight fall from her chest. After the ambulance had left, she went in search of the warden, so he could inform Sam's family. Then she walked up to her room, feeling utterly exhausted. But she hardly found any sleep that night, her mind being tormented by the question if she had been right to forego magic.

* * *

_Thanks for all the reviews! Most of the story is already written but after your suggestions I decided __to include a short meeting between Snape and Thomas (an argument didn't make sense, though). I hope you like it._


	12. Changes

**Changes**

Hermione visited Sam the next morning and found him conscious if still very weak. He and his family hailed her as his life-saver, but Hermione felt uncomfortable with their praise. She was only glad that Sam was still alive.

Three days later she went to London to meet Snape. What had happened had troubled her, even more so because she had no one to talk to. Ginny was away on holidays, and she couldn't tell Thomas. Something still prevented her from confiding in him and this made her feel even more miserable and lonely. There was much work to do for her studies as well as for Snape, and Hermione was glad for it, working late into the nights to keep her thoughts from dwelling on Sam. When she went to London on Friday, she felt tired and distracted.

It wasn't only the question of magic which troubled her, though. Hermione had meticulously analyzed the dream she'd had of Snape, and had rationalized it away quite thoroughly. But when she saw him again she was shocked to find that her perception of him had subtly changed. Suddenly she did no longer perceive him as a somewhat sexless teacher, but as the man he was. She found herself staring at his long, delicate fingers, noticing how he moved them when he spoke. How the corner of his mouth jerked up a little when he was amused and how his black eyes sparkled when he thought they'd had a good idea. It was deeply disturbing.

Snape soon noticed that Hermione, who was usually absolutely focused on her work, was preoccupied with something. "What is the matter?" he asked after she failed to react to a question for the third time.

For a moment she looked guilty, then embarrassed. "I'm sorry. It was a stressful week."

He gave her a searching glance. "If these meetings are too much work perhaps we should stop them," he said in a dispassionate voice.

She shook her head violently, her eyes wide. "No, that's not what I mean. I'm sorry, it's just this week."

Snape looked at her and suddenly a question that had preoccupied him for quite a while now came to his lips. "Why are you doing this?"

She looked confused. "Do what?"

"Help me." He looked at her attentively. "You put much effort into this, and much extra work. I'm sure that you're busy enough with your studies."

"Well," she replied slowly, looking self-conscious, "it's very interesting. It's a challenge. And it is something really important. If we find a cure…I mean if you find a cure…that will really make a difference." She paused, then added, "and I guess I like working with you." She seemed as surprised as he was at those last words. Her eyes quickly flitted away from his face, and she looked rather flustered.

"Well," Snape said slowly, his throat suddenly dry, "I am honored."

Their eyes locked for a few seconds until Snape broke the contact.

"It isn't only work," Hermione abruptly said.

Snape threw her a questioning glance.

"What's bothering me. The porter at my college had a heart attack a few days ago," she explained. "I was there and tried to help. Luckily the ambulance came in time, he's alright." She hesitated and he realized that she was deeply troubled. "But ever since I've been wondering…if I had had my wand with me, I could have helped him much better. If he had died, it would have been because I chose not do magic anymore." She looked at him, her large brown eyes full of doubt. "I've been wondering if it was right to leave the wizarding world. If I don't have the obligation to use my powers."

Snape shook his head. "You don't have an obligation," he said. "It's your choice. That however also means that you'll have to live with the consequences."

Hermione grimaced. "And that's the problem. I know that many were disappointed when I turned my back on the wizarding world." She looked down on her hands. "Everyone said that, of course, it was terrible that so many people had died. That Harry and Ron had died. But I should go on with my life. There would be so many opportunities open to me. Me being so…gifted, and a heroine of the resistance. But somehow I thought I had done enough for the wizarding world. That after all it is my life, and I should decide what to do with it."

"And you were right," Snape said. "I'm certainly the last to tell you otherwise." He was struck by a similarity between them he had never seen before. The fact that in many ways they both had dedicated their lives to bringing Voldemort down. He for a much longer time, certainly, but she had become involved in the fight when she had only been eleven. And they both had broken out of this life when Voldemort had died. He looked at the young woman who was obviously troubled by her sense of responsibility. "The question is what makes you happy," he went on slowly. "You shouldn't pick up magic again just because you think you must. In that case, your magic won't be any good, and you know that. You should return to it because it gives you pleasure. Because you miss it and because you feel that it's an integral part of you. Not because some dunderheads in the ministry accuse you of wasting your great potential."

She looked up, a surprised smile on her face. "A praise from your lips, Professor? I thought I'd never see the day."

Snape shrugged his shoulders. "I never denied that you are a very talented witch."

Her eyes narrowed. "Indeed?"

Snape felt uncomfortable under her steady gaze. And suddenly the question struck him if he would have treated her differently if she hadn't been Potter's friend. "You were quite an annoying know-it-all," he said in a dispassionate voice.

"I guess so," she replied, still looking at him searchingly.

"But a gifted witch nevertheless," he added, turning to open a book. "Now, shall we go on with that?"

He stared down onto the book in front of him, still feeling her eyes on him, but when he finally looked up again she had turned away from him.

…

On an afternoon two weeks later Hermione returned to her college and found a strange woman in the porter's lodge.

"Hello luv," the elder woman greeted her cheerily. She reminded Hermione of Mrs Weasley, if a bit slimmer. "I'm Mary Jones, the new porter."

"Nice to meet you," Hermone replied, surprised. "I'm Hermione Granger."

The porter's smile widened. "You're the girl that saved Mr. Ashe's life?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Luckily I was there when he had his attack. But what about him? Isn't he coming back? I thought he was getting better?"

The woman shook her head. "He's recovering, but as far as I know he and his wife thought it best that he stopped working altogether. At least for a while. You know, he's not young anymore. That's why I'm here."

"Oh," Hermione said, feeling sad. She had known Sam ever since her first day at Cambridge and she just couldn't imagine her college without him.

"Don't you worry, luv," the woman said gently. "He'll be alright. By the way," she started rummaging around in some papers on her desk, "there's been a visitor for you about half an hour ago. A young pretty woman, redhead, by the name of," she had found the note she had obviously written, "Weasley. She said she'd be back around 5 o'clock."

"Thanks," Hermione said in surprise. She had no idea why Ginny had come to visit her but she'd have to wait and see.

"You're welcome, luv. I'll send her up when she shows up again."

"Thank you, Ms Jones," Hermione replied with a smile. The new porter might not be Sam, but she seemed to be alright.

"It's Mary, luv."

Half an hour later Ginny arrived at Hermione's room. She looked excited as if she was bursting to tell Hermione something, and for a second Hermione was struck painfully by her strong resemblance to Ron. "What's up Ginny?" she asked with forced cheerfulness. "What's so important you couldn't send me an owl or phone me?"

Ginny grinned. "Well, one thing is that Draco is my new colleague."

"Malfoy!" A host of memories, none of them pleasant, washed over Hermione. "I thought he was staying away from Britain. He lived abroad, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did until recently. But it seems that now he actually has to earn some money, and for whatever reason he chose to work at the Ministry." She grinned and there was a definite note of schadenfreude in her voice. "We don't really know why he's doing it, and there are lots of rumours going round, but either the Malfoys had to pay so much to get out of Azkaban earlier than was due that now their son has to work for his living. Or he broke with them and now has to fend for himself. Anyway, whatever the reason, Draco is now working in the department of International Relations."

Hermione winced. "How unpleasant. How is he nowadays?"

"He's changed, actually." Ginny said. "Mind you, even in that last year at Hogwarts he was kind of different. You would have thought that he'd have a field day with the Death Eaters in control over the school and everything. Many Slytherins enjoyed it immensely. But Draco often seemed more nervous than pleased, perhaps even afraid."

"I guess he was under a lot of pressure." Hermione shuddered. "Still, he was a nasty prig."

"Definitely. But with those parents…". Ginny shrugged.

Hermione shook her head. "Sirius came from a similar background, and he wasn't a cruel bully."

Ginny smiled wryly. "After all I've heard I guess Snape would beg to differ."

That left Hermione silent.

"You know, not all could be as brave as Harry," Ginny added quietly after a few moments.

"No," Hermione conceded. "But there were choices to make. And ultimately Draco made the wrong ones."

They looked at each other in silence for a few moments, each of them lost in thought. Eventually Ginny went on. "He's quiet now. Keeps to himself. You still see the old arrogance, the self-confidence from time to time. Well, not that I've talked to him much. He seems to feel uncomfortable around me."

Hermione snorted. "No wonder." She gave Ginny a searching look. "That's very interesting, but it still doesn't explain why you came to see me in person."

Suddenly Ginny looked a bit shy. "I thought about calling you," she conceded, "but I really wanted to tell you this in person." She made a dramatic pause. "Neville and I are together."

"Oh Ginny," Hermione cried out, and a large smile spread over her face. She was surprised, but not that much. Ginny and Neville had been friends for a very long time now, and had had a special bond ever since that terrible seventh year. "I'm so happy for you!"

"So am I," said Ginny, grinning joyfully. "Neville and I have been friends for such a long time. I don't really know how it happened, but suddenly I realized that I loved him. I was a bit worried. You know, because of Harry, and everything. But I feel good about it. I'm really happy."

"You look it. And you know that Neville has had a crush on you since at least fourth year."

Ginny giggled. "The poor boy. Well, now you know why I had to tell you this in person."

"I certainly do. This calls for a celebration. Do you have time to go out tonight?"

"Neville is visiting his Grandma to tell her about us." Ginny grimaced. "A formidable woman, but I guess she'll be alright with me. So I'm all yours for tonight."

They went to Hermione's favourite pub and after they had talked in great lengths about Neville, Hermione finally told Ginny about Sam and the feelings of doubt that his heart attack had created in her.

"I just don't know what to do," she said. "I've thought about this dilemma before, but luckily there never was a situation when my powers were called for. And after all, there's always the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. But the question really is, am I right in not using my powers if that means that I won't be able to help people in similar situations? I'm just so glad Sam's alright again, I'd feel terrible if he had died."

Ginny looked at her with great concern. "I know what you mean. But you know very well that we can't help everyone. So I don't think you should feel guilty."

"Sure. And I don't mean I – or other witches and wizards – should go around trying to save people or something like that. But it's something different if it happens right before your eyes."

Ginny grimaced. "I know. About a year ago I was walking down a street when I saw a small boy running after his ball. He rushed right onto the street, taking no heed of the cars. Any second he'd have been run over. Without thinking I wished out my wand and stopped the cars. Luckily everyone was so occupied with the boy, no one noticed me. And everyone just thought that the cars had stopped in time, even the drivers. But I got into some problems with the Ministry." She shrugged her shoulders. "So shouldn't I have saved the boy? I don't think so." Ginny paused, then went on. "What do you want to do now? Take up magic again? Carry a wand for emergencies?"

"The latter, perhaps. Ever since I've started working with Snape I've been wondering what keeps me from performing magic again. Sometimes I think it was really stupid to give it up."

Ginny shrugged. "You had your reasons then, and they were good reasons. And you're happy back in the muggle world, aren't you? But that doesn't mean you have to forego magic for the rest of your life. You just have to try and find out how big a part of it it should be."

"You're a wise woman, Ginevra Weasley," Hermione said with a smile.

Ginny grinned. "I am, am I not?"


	13. So much darkness

**So much darkness**

While Ginny's love life was picking up, Hermione's got more and more strained. Thomas was often cranky and she had no idea why. Whenever she wanted to talk about it, he changed the subject. It was frustrating, but Hermione had enough other things to occupy her mind and refused to be put down by his bad mood.

Originally Thomas had planned to leave for home in June, after the end of the term. Otherwise she'd of course have asked him to accompany her to Stratford for John's premiere. As it was, Hermione hadn't even told him about it, knowing that he wouldn't like her going with "that strange teacher of yours," as he called Snape. Hermione didn't know why, but Thomas' suspicions against Snape had flared up again lately, and when they had met Ginny and Neville for a picnic one Sunday in late May, he had even tried to sound the two of them out about Snape. But at his half-joking allegation that Hermione had had a crush on her chemistry teacher, Neville and Ginny had reacted first with incomprehension and surprise, then with loud laughter. Hermione had hoped that this would convince Thomas to abandon his ridiculous jealousy one and for all, but she wasn't sure it had worked.

Their plans for the summer included her coming to visit Thomas in August to meet his family. Afterwards they planned to rent a motor home and travel through New England for three weeks. Hermione had been looking forward to this for a long time, but now she wasn't sure it was such a good idea. Certainly not if his mood stayed the same.

When June came, Thomas suddenly announced that he wouldn't leave until the end of July. There were some important experiments he had to finish before he could go home. And now Hermione had a problem. She could lie to him about her trip to Stratford, but she had already lied to him about so many things. And so, one week before the premiere, she told him that she'd go to Stratford with Snape.

Hermione had expected Thomas to get angry, but he seemed preoccupied with something else and more confused than jealous. "Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked, and there was pain and bewilderment in his eyes that hurt Hermione more than his anger would have.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I thought you'd be long gone. Otherwise I'd of course have asked you to accompany me."

"Would you?" He looked at her searchingly, then turned away. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I have to work now," he went on rather coldly and she left, tormented by her bad consciousness.

Thomas called her later, telling her that he was sorry about his behaviour. To make up for it he invited her to a nice Indian restaurant for the following Wednesday evening. He sounded genuinely sorry and Hermione, glad that he seemed not to be angry with her, agreed to come.

It was the Wednesday before the premiere in Stratford on Saturday. Hermione had put on a nice skirt and a white jacket she rarely wore because it got dirty so quickly. Before she left her rooms she threw a critical view out of the window. It had been a hot day and now dark clouds were gathering and the wind had picked up considerably. The weather forecast predicted heavy thunderstorms all over Britain.

Now, after the end of the term, the college was nearly deserted, but Hermione had applied to keep her room over the holidays so she could keep on working in Cambridge. She'd go home for a few weeks, but she needed the library and the university computers for her work.

When she was hurrying down the stairs, she met Mary on the second landing. Over the last weeks she had grown to like the elder woman, who had a friendly smile for every student. She was fighting with a large, open window which was obviously stuck, trying to pull it down and shut.

"There's a fine storm brewing outside," she said to Hermione. "We really should get new windows, I bet those are still from Queen Victoria's time."

"Older, by the look of them. Wait, I'll give you a hand," Hermione said, and together they tried to pull down the window with their whole weight.

For a few seconds it remained stuck, then it suddenly gave way. Somehow Mary, who was still pulling with her whole might, slipped from the handle and her right hand crashed down on the window frame, right on the locking mechanism. She cried out. A fraction of a second later, the window came down on her hand.

Hermione stared at her in horror, then hoisted the window up again so the elder woman could get out her hand. Mary panted, staring at her hand which was an angry red and bleeding heavily.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, her voice shaking.

"It hurts," Mary replied in a weak tone. "I don't know, perhaps something is broken?"

"Sit down and wait," Hermione said, "I'll call the ambulance and get some dressing material."

She rushed up to her room, phoned the ambulance and went through her drawers in search of a first aid kit she had once bought for biking tours. When she had found it she hurried down the steps again. Mary was sitting on the low windowsill. Her hand was bleeding profusely and Hermione had to wind several layers of dressing around it to stop the bleeding. It was not easy because the merest touch was painful for Mary. _There have definitely been too many accidents for my liking lately_, Hermione thought, feeling a bit shaky.

"Thanks luv," Mary said with a weak smile when Hermione had finished. "But look at your jacket! I'm so sorry."

For the first time Hermione realized that there was blood on her white jacket. "Don't worry," she said, "I'll get it out again."

The ambulance arrived soon and Hermione could leave Mary to their care. She quickly ran up to her room, changed her jacket and rushed down to her bike. Hermione winced. She was nearly half an hour late and Thomas hated unpunctuality.

The thunderstorm was breaking just as Hermione arrived at the restaurant. Thomas was sitting in a corner, staring down onto the menu.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione panted as she sat down next to him. Then she told Thomas what had happened. He listened to her politely, but in a strangely far-away manner. Hermione, who had expected him to be annoyed, felt confused by his behaviour. He hardly said anything and all throughout the meal it was Hermione who did most of the talking.

When they had finished eating she fixed him with her eyes until he noticed it and stopped staring down on his hands. "What's the matter, Thomas?"

He grimaced. "I'm not very good in hiding it, am I?"

Hermione felt alarmed, but tried not to show it. "No, you're not."

Thomas ran his right hand through his hair, a thing he did when he was nervous. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm going back to the States."

"Oh," Hermione replied, her thoughts reeling. "I guess you're not talking about the holidays?"

Thomas shook his head with a sad smile. "No, I'm not. My father had a heart attack. He's not feeling too well, and I want to be closer to my family. And then my professor got this job offer at the MIT, and he asked me if I wanted to accompany him. It's all…perfect."

"I see…" Hermione felt confused, as if the floor had suddenly dropped away from under her feet. "That's why you have to stay to finish your experiments, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"When did your father have the heart attack?" Hermione asked.

Thomas looked guilty. "In May."

Hermione drew in her breath. "But why haven't you told me?" She was hurt and even more confused, as if she had suddenly found out that she hardly knew him.

Thomas shrugged. "I'm sorry. I just…didn't. It's not as if you tell me everything."

Hermione had a harsh reply on her lips but he was right, wasn't he? She suddenly felt sad and very tired. "So what becomes of us?" she asked quietly.

He met her eyes square. "I wanted to ask you to come with me to the States." He paused. "But I don't think you would."

"I see," Hermione said, her voice curiously flat in her ears. She shook her head a little. "I'm sorry, I'm a little overwhelmed."

Thomas grimaced. "I know. I'm sorry. I really am. Listen, you know that I like you a lot."

_He used to say that he loved me_, Hermione thought in a detached way, her eyes fixed on Thomas' face. _He's already distancing himself._

"And I believe you that you care for me, too." Thomas went on. "But I've always had the feeling that you're holding back something. That you're not trusting me enough, not trusting our relationship. I don't know." He shrugged and looked deeply unhappy. "I'm not saying it's your fault, please don't believe that. I'm guilty, too. But you must have noticed that over the last months our relationship wasn't very happy. Part of it was my fault, I was worried about my Dad, and about what to do. But all in all I think that it just doesn't work out."

Hermione felt a great lump in her throat. "I see. You don't think we could at least try to make this work?"

There was a deep sadness in his eyes. "I don't know, Hermione. I'm so sorry for the pain this is causing you. I really am. I just think that at the moment, it's no use. Perhaps in a few months, who knows. But now I first need to go home and get my life back together."

"Sure," Hermione replied. She fumbled out her purse and put a bill on the table. "I'm sorry, I need to go," she said, glad that her voice didn't sound as shaky as she felt. She needed to get away from him fast, before she burst into tears.

Thomas looked at her worriedly. "You shouldn't go out now, it's raining cats and dogs."

She had completely forgotten about the thunderstorm. "I'll be alright," she said.

"Hermione, I'm sorry."

"I know."

She stepped out into the wind and rain and just kept on walking. The thunderstorm had moved on but the strong wind was lashing the rain into her face. Hermione was glad for it. No one would see her tears now.

Thomas was right, of course. Right in so many ways. Once again it hadn't worked out. But it hurt. It hurt so much. Because she really cared for him. And now she was alone again.

...

A sudden gust of wind rattled the open windows and nearly slammed them shut. Snape quickly put down the latest issue of the _Daily Prophet_, got up and closed the windows. He remained standing for a few moments, looking out into the gathering darkness. The wind had picked up considerably and there were dark clouds gathering in the west.

"There are thunderstorms all over Britain tonight," said Dumbledore.

Snape mumbled something noncommittal, returned to his armchair and took up the newspaper again. Some time ago he had taken out a subscription, to keep abreast with what was happening in the wizarding world. But he regularly asked himself why, the _Prophet _was certainly not better than it used to be. He browsed over the pages, giving only passing glances to the news of a financial scandal at the Ministry and the latest Quidditch results. But then his eyes caught at a headline and he started reading.

"What's the matter Severus?" Dumbledore's portrait asked.

"Arminius Armitage is dead," Snape said slowly. "Murdered. They suspect Gerold Wilson."

"The brother of Flora?"

"Yes." He felt troubled but didn't want to show it to Dumbledore.

"They think it's an act of revenge?"

"It seems so." Snape hesitated, then went on in a flat voice. "Someone saw Gerold leave Arminius' house. But this doesn't make any sense. Arminius didn't play an...active role in Flora's murder. He was just there. And he left the Death Eaters soon after and went into hiding. He's not exactly a prime choice for revenge."

"But all the others who were present are either dead or in Azkaban," Dumbledore said slowly, holding Snape's gaze.

"Yes," he replied. "All apart from me."

Dumbledore looked worried. "Do you think Gerold will come after you? – if it was him who killed Arminius."

Snape shrugged his shoulders. "He doesn't know I'm still alive, but if he did know…"

"But he must know that you were on our side."

Snape snorted. "It didn't help Arminius, did it? He left Voldemort soon after Flora's murder and later helped the Ministry track down Death Eaters. But that still doesn't change the fact that he was there and did nothing to save her." He paused, his throat suddenly constricted. "I'm not worried," he went on. "Gerold will never find me, and even if, he was never very good with a wand."

Dumbledore didn't seem convinced. "Did they arrest him?"

"They haven't found him yet."

"When they do I'll talk to him, find out what happened."

"Do that," Snape said. He put the newspaper down and got up from his chair. "If you'll excuse me now, I'll have something to eat."

"Of course, Severus," Dumbledore replied, still looking worried.

Snape left his study but didn't go to the dining room. Instead he headed for the entrance door and stepped out onto the porch, looking out over his garden to the line of trees behind it, only barely visible in the night. Gusts of wind were shaking the trees and clouds were chasing across the dark sky.

Flora Wilson... He hadn't thought about her for a long time. Usually he was very good in keeping the memories of what he had done in the guise of a Death Eater at bay. At least when he was awake. His dreams were a different matter. But from time to time something he saw or heard or thought would bring the memories back. Snape took a deep breath. Dumbledore hadn't asked what had happened that night when they had killed Flora, and he had been thankful for it. It had been in that last, terrible year before Voldemort's death, and Flora had kept her husband, who was muggle-born, hidden. They had…interrogated her and eventually had found her husband. Then they had killed them both.

It had been nothing special, and that in itself showed the horror of those last months. Nothing special to torture a woman senseless and then murder her and her husband. Snape had even had the impression that some of the Death Eaters were bored with it.

It had been one of the occasions when Snape had been glad for the Death Eater mask. It was worse when they didn't wear masks and he had to constantly control his face not to show his loathing and terror and self-hate.

But it had been his decision, hadn't it? Not only all those years ago, when he had joined the Death Eaters because of his stupid adolescent thirst for power and appreciation. But also later, when he had returned to Voldemort as Dumbledore's agent. He could have fled, or he could have declared his allegiance to the Order. Then he wouldn't have had to take part in their sick games anymore, wouldn't have had to do deeds that made him loathe himself even now. But it was the only way he had seen to atone for what he had done to Lily, and it was this thought, the knowledge that he was doing it for Lily, that had kept him sane. Barely.

Sometimes he had told Dumbledore what they did, what he did. To have someone who listened to him. And sometimes to show him what he went through in the name of the Order, to get some reaction from him.

It had got worse when he had killed Dumbledore. After that Snape had had to be constantly on guard, could never allow his mask to slip. The Death Eaters had always been around him, and his colleagues had hated him. He had been surprised at how much this hatred hurt. Snape wouldn't have called them friends, but they had worked together for so many years that some kind of emotional bond had formed. But the greatest pain had been that most of them had not been surprised when he had killed Dumbledore. Shocked, of course, but not surprised. Obviously they had never really trusted him, had only taken Dumbledore's word for his loyalty to the Order. After all he was a Slytherin and a former Death Eater. And those few who had really trusted him had hated him even more for his seeming betrayal. He had had a hard time not showing how McGonagall's hatred and disdain had got to him. It had been a very lonely year.

After Dumbledore's death and the murder of Scrimgeour the Death Eaters had lost any restraint they had perhaps still had before. Snape hadn't counted how often he had been called, how often he had spent the night in ever more blurring scenes of violence and death. He usually tried to keep in the background, to take part in it as little as possible. But sometimes Voldemort demanded a proof of his loyalty, or Snape had to prevent the other Death Eaters from suspecting that he was not wholly on their side. Bellatrix especially had never really trusted him. And so time and again he had had to take a more active part, had had to make himself do things he tried so much to forget but never could.

It was worst when he knew their victims. Poor Charity. They had never been close, but they had been colleagues for many years. He still could see her hanging upside down over the table in Lucius' dining room, begging him to help him. And there had been nothing he could do, nothing at all. Sometimes he dreamed of her desperate pleas, the terror and hopelessness in her eyes…

Snape felt as if he were choking. He left the porch of his house and hurried out into the darkness, glad for the storm that was tearing at his clothes. He drew in the fresh air in deep breaths. Suddenly lightning rent the sky in front of him and seconds later thunder shook the world. It started to rain heavily but Snape didn't run for cover, but stopped and turned his face upwards into the pouring rain.

Of course he knew that it had been necessary. And he knew that the information he gathered had saved many lives. But that didn't help when the memories returned.

Sometimes all he could do was give them a quick death.

He had tried to distance himself from what he did, from the victims' fear and horror and pain. Had to do it so he didn't give himself away. And then, one night in those terrible last months, he had looked down on a crying muggle-born and realized that he felt nothing. Nothing at all. When he had returned to Hogwarts that night he had spent a long time in front of the mirror, staring at his face. The face that had so much turned into the mask he had to show to the world that he felt he was losing himself. That the real Severus Snape, or what was left of him, was retreating further and further away, leaving only an empty impassive shell.

He had tried to fight it, had tried to tell himself that he was doing this for Lily, that it was important and she would be proud of him. Had tried to cling to the hope that Dumbledore knew what he was doing when he put all his hope in a few children, that Voldemort would be defeated eventually. But there had only been numbness and darkness inside him.

So much darkness.

* * *

_Finally some plot development – hope you like it ;-)._


	14. New perspectives

**New perspectives**

When Snape entered his study the evening before going to Stratford, he found a strange box on his desk. He immediately drew out his wand, but Dumbledore's voice stopped him from incinerating it.

"Don't worry, it's from me."

"How did it get here?" Snape growled, less than thrilled that Dumbledore was now somehow sending boxes to his house.

"I had it in Hogwarts and sent your house-elf to get it," the former headmaster replied, absolutely unfazed by Snape's glowering stare. "I want you to give it to Miss Granger."

"Why? What's in it?"

"Look for yourself."

Snape went forwards and opened the lid cautiously. "You shouldn't give that to her," he said, staring down into the box. "She won't want it. And it's too valuable, it should stay in our world."

When he looked up he saw that Dumbledore was shaking his head. "No, she is the one who has the best claim to this."

Snape looked at him in silence for a few moments. "You intend something with this," he finally said, his voice full of suspicion. "Why can't you leave the girl alone?"

Dumbledore just smiled a little sadly. "I assure you Severus that I don't have any ulterior motives with this. What Hermione does with it is entirely up to her. And I will leave her…alone…as much as I can. You must believe me that I feel for her as much as you do."

Snape snorted. "I don't have any feelings for the girl, I just think she has suffered enough."

"Indeed, Severus," Dumbledore said with his infuriating smile and Snape thought it better just to close the lid again and leave.

**…**

An hour before Snape was to meet Hermione he was walking along the river Avon. The weather was brilliant, warm and sunny, but his thoughts were dark. Before he had left his house he had wondered if he should disguise himself in some way. He wasn't afraid of Gerold Wilson, but should he tempt fate by presenting himself in public without any precautions? Finally he had decided against it. He had lived with deception and masks and secrecy far too long, and it was highly unlikely that anyone would recognize him.

The truth was that the thoughts about Gerold and Arminius and Flora had worried him during the last days. Worried him more than he wanted to admit to Dumbledore. He had always known that his past might catch up with him eventually, but until now it had only been a hypothetical possibility. He didn't think it very likely that Gerold would ever find him. But if he did, what should he do? Kill him to save his own life? Gerold certainly had a good reason to hate him, and Snape had seen and done far too much killing to wish for more. Suddenly he felt the familiar choking feeling of guilt and shame and pain that always accompanied his memories of what he had done as a spy. For the last years he had been able to keep it and the dark memories at bay. At least most of the time. But now those memories suddenly filled his mind again and during the last nights his sleep had been troubled by nightmares.

Suddenly Snape slowed down, his steps arrested by the sight of a familiar figure sitting on a bench further along his path.

She was staring out over the river, apparently lost in thoughts. There really wasn't a reason why he shouldn't approach her and so, after a moment's pause, he did, but she didn't notice him. She seemed oblivious to everything around her, and when Snape came closer he thought that she looked troubled and tired. It was only when he was hardly eight feet away that she turned towards him and recognized him. Immediately her face lit up with a smile.

Snape felt a sudden, unexpected stab. That smile. It was genuinely happy, as if she was glad to see him. Only one other person had ever given him such a radiant smile… He suddenly realized that Hermione had said something. She looked up at him with a questioning expression on her face, then said, "I just asked if you'd like to sit down." Pushing away the rush of strange thoughts and feelings her smile had produced, he gave a short nod and sat down next to her.

"So how are you, Professor?" Hermione asked. Snape's sudden appearance had caught her off guard. But in fact she was glad to be snatched out of her bleak thoughts. The last days had been less than pleasant and she ached with the loss of Thomas. Snape's behaviour, however, was a bit strange, he seemed preoccupied and rather distanced, and with a pang she wondered if he, just like Thomas, was somehow angry with her.

"I think it's no longer appropriate for you to call me Professor," he suddenly said, catching her completely by surprise. "After all I neither work at Hogwarts any longer nor am I your teacher."

"That's true," she replied, not sure where this was going. "But what should I call you instead?"

"What about Severus?"

A surprised smile lit up Hermione's face. "Very well. But only if you call me Hermione."

Snape nodded and he looked at her with an expression in his eyes she couldn't read. "Shall we go for dinner and toast to that?"

"With pleasure." Hermione felt uplifted. At least _he_ didn't push her back. "By the way, I have brought you a few interesting things," she added, pointing to her bag which was obviously filled with books.

They went to the Italian restaurant they had dined in before, ate and talked until 6 o'clock, then returned to the hotel to change. This time, Hermione had decided that she wouldn't stay at the youth hostel but treat herself to a real hotel room, and when she had asked Snape he had recommended the hotel he was staying in.

John had told her that this premiere would be quite an event. Several celebrities were expected and she shouldn't have any qualms about dressing up. So Hermione had taken her most elegant dress with her, black and shiny, asymmetrically cut so it only covered her left shoulder, ankle length but with a long cut along her right leg. Now she was standing in front of the mirror, trying to put up her untamable hair in a loose elegant knot using hairpins topped with single large fake pearls. When she had finished, she stared into the mirror for several moments. An unfamiliar, very elegant young woman was looking back at her.

Gazing at her reflection she suddenly wondered what Snape would think about her. _Stop it_, she thought in exasperation, _you're not trying to impress him – or are you? _It was strange to call him Severus, but not as strange as she had thought it would be. It had been over two years now since she had met him, and during that time her perception of him had changed from the cruel potions bat to a much more complex figure, puzzling and fascinating… _Stop it!_ Hermione thought once again, and her reflection broke into an embarrassed smile. _He's not interested in you in that way – and neither are you in him!_ She shook her head in exasperation, then gave her reflection a last appraising look and left her room.

If Hermione had expected Snape to show any signs of being impressed by her altered appearance, she was thoroughly disappointed. She arrived down at the hotel lobby a few minutes before him, and when he suddenly appeared at her side he only said "You look elegant" in a level voice and offered her his arm. He himself looked quite well, too, wearing an elegantly cut suit and shirt in what looked like black silk.

The staging of _Anthony and Cleopatra_ was rather modern, but Hermione liked it. Afterwards they went to the restaurant where the premier party would take place and where a growing crowd of actors and people from the audience was already gathering. After standing around for a few minutes, feeling slightly out of place, Hermione finally spotted John who went towards them with a large grin on his face.

"Hermione!" he said, hugging and kissing her on the cheeks. "It's great that you have come. And you must be the famous teacher," he said to Snape.

"Famous or infamous?" Snape replied rather dryly.

"Both, I'd say," John parried. "How did you like the play?"

"It was rather modern."

"Hermione already said that you don't like modern stagings."

"Did she indeed? Well, it was an interesting experience."

John gave him an open smile. "I guess that's as good as it gets. Come, I'll show you to our table."

Hermione, who had felt rather nervous about John meeting Snape, heaved an internal sigh of relief. This was not going too bad. John led them to a table were some friends of his were already sitting and they ordered drinks. When all the guests had settled down there were a few speeches and then the buffet was declared open. Snape said he didn't want to eat anything, but John and Hermione went to get some food.

"He is interesting," John said to her as they were standing in line. "Quite fit, actually."

Hermione laughed out in surprise. "Don't tell me you're hitting on him."

John grinned. "You have to admit he has a great body for a man his age. How old is he?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Mid 40s I guess. But it certainly never occurred to me that you might be interested in him." She shook her head, stifling a giggle.

"He's not attractive in the conventional sense, but he has an interesting face. And those dark eyes – very fascinating. But I imagine he can look quite fierce and intimidating."

"You have no idea."

The thought to see Snape as a somewhat attractive man was slightly unsettling. And yet, was it so strange? Hermione didn't think him ugly. She had, as a child, but now she knew him better – and his hair was definitely less greasy – she would admit that there was a certain something – a rather dark and severe something, but nevertheless... And he moved with a careless grace that she had noticed even as a student. But after her dream it felt disconcerting and dangerous to think of him as a man in whom she might be interested in_ that _way.

"So how are things?" John's question shook her out of her reveries. She grimaced and said in a low voice, "not great, actually. Tom split up with me two days ago."

John's looked stricken. "Really? What a shame." He glanced around and dropped his voice so the people queuing with them at the buffet wouldn't hear him. "How are you taking it?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "I'm ok. I don't feel great, obviously, but it's alright."

John regarded her with a worried expression. "Well, you know if I can help you in any way you just have to tell me."

She smiled at him reassuringly. "Thanks. Actually being here is the best distraction right now."

His face brightened up a bit. "Definitely. I'll help you fix your mind on other things. There will be dancing later on, how about it?"

"Great, I could do with some cheering up."

When they finally returned to the table, balancing their laden plates, Hermione had to suppress a broad grin when she thought of John's admiration for Snape. He seemed to have kept to himself, not taking part in the conversations around him, and Hermione felt a quick stab of bad consciousness for leaving him alone like this. But then she argued that he was certainly old enough to look after himself. John must have thought something along the same lines because as soon as they had sat down he drew Snape into a conversation about the play and Shakespeare in general. Hermione was glad to find that Snape was hardly snapeish but – at least for his standards – positively nice.

John, who obviously thought that the best medicine for medicine for lovesickness was alcohol, kept her wine glass filled and Hermione felt her spirits rise. She had already had wine in the afternoon and she wasn't accustomed to much alcohol, but at the moment the slight exhilaration it created felt quite nice.

Shortly after they had finished eating, music began to play and a few couples started dancing. When after a couple of songs they played some salsa music, John's eyes lit up, he threw her a meaningful look and said, "what about a dance, Hermione? It'll cheer you up."

Hermione saw that Snape threw her a questioning glance at that comment but she didn't react to it. Instead she hesitated for a second, unsure if she should just leave him like that, but then Snape said, "oh, don't worry about me," and after a searching look at him she got up and followed John to the other dancers.

It was nice to dance again, especially with John whose moves she knew by heart and who deftly led her across the dance floor. All she had to do was to give in to the music. It felt great just to move with it, not to think about what had happened or to worry about the future any more. _John was right_, she thought, flashing him a great smile, _this is just the thing to do_.

Snape's eyes followed Hermione when she left the table. He watched them start dancing and after a few minutes he had to admit to himself that he was surprised. She danced well. Very well, in fact. Her movements were graceful and natural, not forced and exaggerated as it was so often the case with the Latin dances. She had an unconscious elegance and – he would never have thought that he'd ever use that word for Hermione Granger – sensuality. It was…fascinating. And a bit disconcerting. In fact it added to a feeling of disturbance that he had had earlier on, when he had spotted her in the hotel lobby. He didn't quite know why, but seeing her in that dress and with that hairstyle had strangely unsettled him. It made her look more grown-up, and while he of course had realized long ago that she was no longer the little girl he remembered from Hogwarts, and while he had more or less accepted her as some kind of equal, it was only then, when he had seen her in that dress, that he had fully realized that she was a grown woman. An attractive woman. And that only added to the feeling of confusion that her sudden smile of recognition had somehow evoked in him earlier. Of course he would never show her any of these thoughts, and he was pretty sure that his face had betrayed nothing when he had joined her in the lobby. But it was disconcerting, nevertheless.

He was not the only one who had noticed her dancing, he realized when he saw that the eyes of several others were fixed on her and her partner who was a very good dancer as well.

Krum had been the first to realize it, Snape suddenly thought. The first who not only saw her as a frightfully intelligent, slightly bossy girl, but also as the attractive woman she would become. He himself had hardly recognized her at the Yule Ball. A small smile played around his mouth as he remembered how shaken his Slytherins had been when their hero had not only shown up with a Mudblood, but when the despised Granger had looked quite stunning.

She and her friend danced two more dances, then they separated and John started dancing with a strange woman while Granger made back for their table. No, it was Hermione now, Snape reminded himself. He didn't quite know why he had suggested she call him Severus. It had been a spontaneous intuition which just seemed right at the moment, after all they had been working together for some time now.

When she arrived at the table, her cheeks flushed from the dance and her eyes shining brightly, she didn't sit down but looked at him with a challenging expression.

"Severus, would you dance with me?"

Snape felt a alarmed and at the same moment also angry with himself for this reaction. "I don't dance," he replied rather firmly.

Hermione inclined her head a little. "But I know you do. I saw you dancing with Professor McGonagall at the Yule Ball."

"That was only because she forced me to," he growled.

"Come on, you'll like it," the young woman said, obviously not willing to let go. From the corners of his eyes Snape saw a few men edging closer, obviously more than willing to dance with Hermione if he didn't want to.

"Alright," he said, surprised at the words that came out of his mouth, "I'll dance with you, but I can't do the Latin stuff."

A broad smile lit up Hermione's face. "Great. And don't worry, listen, they're playing a foxtrot at the moment.

They were indeed and there was nothing left for Snape but to get up and follow her to the dancing floor. John whirled past with his new partner, and when he spotted them Snape thought he saw a rather knowing grin which he didn't like at all.

Snape hadn't danced for ages, and it took him a while to get back into it, but then it was not too bad. As he had already observed, Hermione was a very good dancer, and there was enough room on the dance floor so they didn't have to worry about the other couples all the time.

When after a while he turned his head to look at her, he found her smiling at him, her eyes shining with pleasure. Again Snape felt a strange jolt and looked away immediately. Suddenly he was very aware of how close she was, of the fresh smell of her perfume and her bare back beneath his left hand. _Get yourself together_, he thought angrily, _what's going on with you? You're behaving like a nervous teenager._

When he looked at her again, he had put on the dispassionate mask that had served him so well during his work as a spy. She however seemed not impressed, but was still smiling, mischievous laughter dancing in her eyes.

"You like it," she said in a teasing tone, "admit it."

"It is more pleasant than it was with McGonagall."

Hermione laughed out loud. "Well, I guess that's a compliment." She held his eyes until Snape broke the contact, ostensibly looking away to lead her to the other end of the floor. Somehow he found it disconcerting to look into her eyes too long. And this realization again was rather worrying.

Snape left her as soon as they started playing a rumba and returned to their table. Hermione looked after him until she suddenly noticed that a rather nervous looking young man was standing in front of her who was obviously asking her for another dance.

She didn't know if it was because of the dancing, the alcohol, John's comments or the fact that she had just been dumped by her boyfriend, but somehow she had felt strangely excited dancing with Snape. And she had enjoyed teasing him. _Get yourself together_, she thought exasperatedly, _I will not start flirting with Snape! Certainly not!_

While dancing with her new partner, she thought more than once that Snape was watching her, but every time she looked in his direction he was looking elsewhere. When she finally returned to their table she found him deep in conversation with John. As soon as she sat down, John passed her a glass full of cool white wine. Hermione eyed it for a second, knowing that she couldn't take much more alcohol, but then took it nevertheless. She was here to amuse herself, after all. To forget about Thomas. And John would see that no harm came to her.

* * *

_Thanks a lot for your reviews! I hope you like this chapter as well._


	15. Impossible

**Impossible**

It was nearly two o'clock when Hermione and Snape finally left the party and went back to their hotel. When they arrived on Snape's floor Hermione was just about to say good night when he suddenly asked, "Will I see you tomorrow before you leave?"

"I guess so," she replied, intrigued. "Why?"

"There is something I have to give you."

This piqued her curiosity. "What is it?"

He looked a bit annoyed. "Something Dumbledore wants you to have."

"Oh." She certainly hadn't expected that. "You could give it to me now."

"I guess it'd be better if I gave it to you tomorrow," Snape replied, seeming rather reluctant.

"And why is that?"

He hesitated, then said, "Because you won't like it."

Hermione furrowed her brow, puzzled by his evasive behaviour. "For God's sake, Severus, do you think that'll let me sleep soundly? Now I definitely want it tonight."

He held her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "It's your decision." He turned and went to the door of his room, Hermione following him with a feeling of apprehension. What could Dumbledore want to give her? And why wouldn't she like it?

Snape opened the door and switched on the light, then he went to his suitcase and got out a small box. He took his wand and enlarged it until it was about as large as a shoe box, then he put it on a low coffee table and gestured for Hermione to sit on the sofa next to it. He himself sat down on the other end of the sofa, his eyes never leaving her.

Hermione reached out and carefully opened the lid. She gasped. In the box lay Harry's invisibility cloak.

She looked up at Snape, her eyes wide with shock, her thoughts reeling. "I...I can't accept this. It's far too valuable."

His face was impassive. "I absolutely agree with you but Dumbledore insists that you take it."

"But I don't want it!" She stared down on the silvery fabric. As if on its own accord, her right hand reached out for the cloak, but stopped just inches above it.

"I know, but when did Dumbledore ever care for our wishes," Snape snarled.

Hermione hardly heard him. After a few moments of hesitation her fingers finally reached out and touched the soft and surprisingly light material. She slowly got out the cloak and held it in front of her. Feeling and smelling it brought back so many memories. It was overwhelming. Hermione stared at the cloak, she didn't know if only for seconds or for minutes, her mind whirling. Finally she put it back again. "Tell Dumbledore I'll keep it," she said, her voice hoarse. "But also tell him that I don't regard it as my own. If he finds someone who has a good use for it, I'll be happy to give it back."

Snape looked at her searchingly.

"I'm alright," Hermione said, her shaky tone betraying her. "It's just... It is so unexpected, and it brought back so many memories."

He nodded. "How about a glass of wine? I guess you could need something strengthening after this shock."

"Alright," she said, giving him a slightly wobbly smile to reassure him she was well.

He stood up and went to the mini-bar, got a bottle of red wine and two glasses, poured the wine and offered it to her. After a few seconds of consideration he turned down the bright lights and lit some candles on the small table. Hermione looked at him gratefully. She felt less exposed in the dim light, less self-conscious about her sorrow. She took a deep sip of wine and watched Snape sit down next to her again.

"You know, I probably shouldn't drink that," she said, nevertheless taking another sip. "I've already had quite a lot tonight."

He didn't reply but eyed her over the rim of his glass.

"Actually I've never been drunk," she went on. "Yet."

"And you think tonight might be a good time to change that?"

Hermione gave a small, bitter laugh. "Perhaps." She looked down on her glass. "My boyfriend broke up with me on Wednesday. I believe it's rather customary to get drunk on such an occasion."

"I am sorry."

She looked up, meeting Snape's eyes again. "Thanks, but that's not necessary. I am fine." She grimaced. "And I'm sorry for bothering you with this. I don't even know why I'm telling you. The alcohol, probably. After all you certainly don't look like an agony aunt."

Snape's mouth twitched. "I think not. But you'd be surprised how often I had to play that role for my Slytherins."

Hermione grinned at the thought. "Indeed? I can hardly believe that."

"You'd be astonished what sensitive souls slumber under the harsh exterior," he said, a mischievous glitter in his eyes. "Pansy Parkinson especially was a frequent visitor, alternately crying her eyes out or raging about Malfoy who just didn't return her affections. And you wouldn't believe what terrible love poems Goyle came up with."

Hermione giggled. "That must have been quite daunting."

"It was indeed."

Hermione looked at him, at his face subtly transformed by the smile, and suddenly felt a strange tenderness. She quickly averted her eyes and looked back on her glass again. "I guess we shouldn't laugh," she said. "Loving someone who doesn't love you in return is not a nice thing."

"No, it isn't."

There was a strange tone in Snape's voice and Hermione threw him a quick glance, but he didn't look at her. She turned away from him again, looked out into the night and took another sip of wine. The sadness and pain that had been brought back by the invisibility cloak were still there, but attenuated by a pleasant lightness, as if her sorrows somehow didn't touch her anymore.

"I'm sure there are enough other men in your life." Snape suddenly said.

Hermione gave him a questioning look, surprised at this remark and not sure what to make of it.

"What about your friend John?" he went on.

Hermione giggled. "I'm afraid John is more interested in you than in me." She grinned at Snape's blank face. "He's gay. And he thought you quite fit."

Snape's expression was priceless and Hermione laughed out loud.

"Well, I'm honoured...I guess," he said slowly, a smile tucking at his mouth. "That's probably the most unusual compliment I've ever got."

Hermione grinned mischievously. "You should be proud. John has good taste."

Their eyes locked for a few seconds, then Snape broke the contact to pour him and her more wine.

Hermione slowly twirled her glass between her fingers, staring at the dark red liquid before she took another sip. "But no, there is no one else," she said. A strand of hair which had escaped from the hairpins fell into her eyes. As she gingerly touched her hair she noticed that it was slowly unravelling, and so she put away her glass and started taking out the pins, placing them on top of the box which held the cloak. When she had finished she absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair which was now falling down on her bare shoulders.

"You know, he was right," she said after a while, looking up again to find Snape's eyes fixed on her, a strange expression in them which vanished as soon as she met his gaze. "My boyfriend, I mean. He was right to break up with me."

Snape didn't say anything, just held her gaze.

"He said that I didn't love him enough. That I kept secrets from him, that I was too afraid to open up, to trust in love, fate, life, whatever. And he was right, I was too afraid. And I feel sorry because I never wanted to hurt him. And sorry for myself because now I'm alone again. It was nice to have someone again. Just...to be there, to lean on. And I'm afraid that perhaps I'll never be able to risk it again. To really love someone. Because I'd always be afraid to lose him." Hermione suddenly had a great lump in her throat and looked away, out of the window into the dark night.

Snape felt a deep sadness. She looked terribly young and vulnerable with her hair freed from the elaborate hairstyle. Somehow he wanted to comfort her, but he had no idea how he could do that. And yet, when she had told him that her boyfriend had broken up with her, he had felt…uplifted. How could that be? He didn't want her to be unhappy, certainly not. And the young man had seemed adequate, if nothing special.

Hermione jerked him out of his thoughts. "You know, defeating Voldemort didn't turn out what it was cracked up to be," she said, still looking out into the night.

"No, I guess it wasn't," he replied, studying her face.

Hermione took another sip of wine. "I never really thought they'd die," she finally went on. "I mean of course I knew they could. And that I could die as well. But somehow it didn't seem a real possibility. Harry had survived so much, he just wouldn't die now. But then he did, and Ron did, and I was left alone." Her voice was hoarse and her eyes very bright. She took another long sip of wine, staring out into the night. After a while she turned towards Snape again. "But it wasn't much better for you, was it?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

She scrutinized him intently and he felt suddenly uncomfortable under her steady gaze. "You lost your friends as well. At the end you betrayed all those you might ever have had among the Death Eaters. And all your friends among the Order thought you were a traitor because you had killed Dumbledore." Something like pain flitted across her face. "The year you were Headmaster must have been terrible for you," she said softly. "Never being able to let down your guard. Constantly being in the presence of those who thought you'd betrayed them. To feel their contempt and their disappointment."

Snape looked away, not able to meet the pity in her eyes. "It wasn't pleasant," he said, trying to sound dispassionate.

"Why didn't you return?" she asked softly. "They know the truth now. I'm sure they'd be happy to have you back as their friend. They probably feel rather bad about their behaviour towards you."

He snorted, looking at her again. "I don't need their excuses or their forgiveness. And neither do I need their friendship."

Now it was Hermione's turn to ironically raise an eyebrow. "Because you have so many other friends?"

The wry tone in her voice stung surprisingly much. "I'm the dark bat of the dungeon," Snape replied in a slightly forced joking tone. "What makes you think I want friends?"

She looked at him with a strange expression in her eyes. "You are sitting here with me, aren't you?" she said softly. "Perhaps you like being with me just as much as I like being with you?"

Snape suddenly felt rather odd. Somehow he wasn't able to break the gaze in which her serious brown eyes held his, and found it hard to keep control over his facial features. "Perhaps," he said quietly before he could stop himself.

Hermione's eyes lit up for a moment and suddenly Snape's breath caught in his throat. He quickly looked down on his hands, angry with himself, strangely aware of the young woman beside him.

She was silent for a while, then asked, "Do you think we'll ever be able to leave the past behind?"

His eyes jerked up at her use of the 'we'. "Do you really want that?"

Her mouth twitched in a sad little smile. "I guess not. Although sometimes… So you think ' 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all'?"

"Yes," he said, surprised at his answer and the huskiness of his voice.

Hermione's eyes widened with realization. Although some voice at the back of his mind told Snape to look away he couldn't, but was held by the deep sympathy in her eyes. Suddenly she leant closer towards him, reached out with her right hand and very softly touched his cheek. She took it away immediately, and so light and swift had the touch been that he was not sure he hadn't imagined it.

Hermione looked at him with a strange mixture of tenderness and fear, then she leant even closer and kissed him.

It was a cautious kiss at first, but after a few moments she got bolder and more passionate, her hand now tangled in his hair, pressing his head towards hers. To say that Snape was surprised would be an understatement. He was utterly shocked, and a voice in his mind yelled to pull away, to push her from him. But somehow he didn't do it. Even worse, he found himself wrapping his right arm around her, placing his hand on the soft warm skin of her bare back, and pressing her closer to him while leaning into her kiss. His lips had parted almost instantly, meeting hers with a fierceness that shocked him, and his tongue hungrily tasted the sweetness of her mouth, the slight bitterness of the wine she had drunk.

Abruptly he pulled back and held her away from him. He was panting with the sudden passion cursing through his body and had difficulty not drawing her close again immediately, kissing her, touching her. But the voice in his head screamed that he couldn't do this.

Hermione looked at him in wonder, her eyes still shining with passion but now also expressing surprise and disappointment. Her wild hair was floating around her head and down her bare shoulders, and Snape thought that he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

"You don't want to do this," he said, his voice hoarse.

She shook her head a little, looking at him intently. "Why shouldn't I want to kiss you?" she said softly, trying to pry away his right hand with which he was holding her away from him.

Deep inside his chest it felt as if something cramped. He gulped, but held on fast to her shoulder, careful not to hurt her. "You're drunk," he said, trying to sound as cold and dispassionate as possible. "And you don't want to kiss me. You want to kiss your boyfriend. Or Weasley. Or whomever. But certainly not me."

She was still looking at him intently but had stopped prying at his hand. "Oh Severus," she replied softly. When she said his name it nearly took his breath away. It was a great effort not to touch her face, stroke her hair, draw her closer. They were silent for a few moments, staring at each other. Finally Hermione drew back on her own accord, still holding his gaze and looking at him with something like defiance. "Tell me, if you're so sure I didn't want to kiss you, why then did you kiss me back?"

Snape looked away quickly. There was no answer he could give her. "I… I have to go," he said, stood up and hurried to the door, storming outside in a rather undignified way. He rushed down the corridor, down the steps, through the lobby and outside the hotel. The only thing he could think of was to get as far away from her as possible. He only hoped she wouldn't follow him. And she didn't.

Snape drew in the cool night air in deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. Something like this, such a complete loss of self-control, had never happened to him since Lily's death. How could he have lost it like that?

He hurried down the nearest street, his steps echoing through the lonely darkness. But try as he may, Snape couldn't escape the memory of Hermione's kiss. It had been she who had initiated it, there was no doubt about that, and she had kissed him with an intensity and passion he hadn't experienced for many many years. She had seemed so sure of herself, so sure of what she was doing. And he had responded in a way which shocked him even more than her behaviour. _She is drunk_, he told himself. _Her boyfriend has just broken up with her, she is disappointed and angry and lonely, and probably looking for some weird kind of revenge on him. This wasn't about me at all. It is impossible that she should have any feelings for me. The thought of it! Quite impossible… No, it's quite clear that she only did it to prove to herself that she is a desirable and passionate woman_. He drew in his breath again. _And she is, my reaction to her was proof enough of that. But she didn't really mean me, she was thinking of her boyfriend, or of Weasley. She must have. Why should she be interested in me? There is no reason to think so, and no use, no use at all. _

_But the way she acted… And she was clearly disappointed when I stopped kissing her. But that wasn't because of me, it could have happened with any other man. Probably all she wanted was to forget, to numb her pain with alcohol and some quick passion. _He walked down the dark and empty streets with long, hurried steps, taking no account of where he was going. _But would that have been so bad_, a traitorous thought rung in his head. _If she wanted it, and if it would have helped her, why shouldn't I give her the comfort she sought?_ He suddenly stopped, staring in front of him without really seeing what was there. _Because it would have been too dangerous_, he told himself. _Far too dangerous. _His surprising reaction to her advances made clear that he had already become far too involved with her, had let her get far too close. _This should never have happened. What was I thinking, kissing a former student, taking advantage of the trust she has shown me, of her pain about her friends' death? It was only natural that she should turn to me, the one who had been there with her. That she hoped to find in me someone who could understand her pain, someone who could give her some solace. And what have I done? I exploited her sorrow when she, in a weak moment and under the influence of alcohol and emotional turmoil, sought some consolation. It's disgusting._

Snape hurried on, Hermione's question hammering in his mind. Why had he kissed her back? Why hadn't he pushed her away immediately? Granted, their relationship had changed over the last years, had become closer and more personal. But there was nothing in it to explain his reaction. His feelings for her were purely professional and platonic. She had been his pupil, for Merlin's sake! She could be his daughter! Probably he, too, had had too much wine. And he had been under much emotional stress lately, with Gerold and Flora and everything. Yes, that must be it. And it was hardly surprising that his body would react to an attractive woman. After all he hadn't been with a woman for a long time. Snape cringed in embarrassment. _I am a pathetic old lecher. How disgusting._

He spent over an hour outside, walking through the empty streets reasoning with himself, trying to come to terms with what Hermione had done and especially with what he had done. He dreaded meeting her again, but he knew that he couldn't stay out there all night. Finally Snape drew together his courage, repeated in his mind what he wanted to tell her – that he was very sorry and that he knew that it had been a mistake, born from alcohol and emotional turmoil – and went back to the hotel.

He found her lying on the sofa, curled up under one of the blankets from his bed. She was fast asleep. Snape stood looking down on her for several minutes, glad that he didn't have to talk to her, but also strangely disappointed. Then he leant down and tucked the blanket fast over her exposed shoulders. He hesitated for a second, then softly brushed a lock of hair which had fallen over her face out of the way. His hand lingered on her hair for a few more moments. _Get yourself together_, he thought angrily. _Foolish man!_ He jerked upright and stood motionless for a while, then got out his wand and performed a memory charm on her. _You are a coward_, he thought. But if by this he could spare them both embarrassment and could make sure that their relationship didn't suffer from what had happened that night, he was more than willing to tamper with her brain.

Snape went to bed, but he didn't find any sleep that night. He stared into the darkness, listening to her low, steady breathing, trying in vain not to think of the feeling of her lips on his, the touch of her fingers on his face and the sensation of her warm and slender body pressed against his.

* * *

_I hope you liked reading this chapter as much as I did writing it ;-)._


	16. The next morning

**The next morning**

When Hermione opened her eyes after a short night of confusing dreams, she at first didn't know where she was. Then she remembered. The hotel in Stratford. But still something didn't feel right. Then it hit her. She was lying on a sofa and this was definitely not her room.

Hermione scrambled up from the makeshift bed in which she found herself, her heart and thoughts racing, and her eyes fell on Snape who was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. He had been reading a book, but now lowered it to look at her.

"What am I doing here?" she asked in a tense voice.

"You fell asleep," he replied, got up and brought her a glass of water. "The alcohol, probably. How's your head?"

Hermione turned it around gingerly. "I have a headache, but I'm fine."

Snape nodded, took out his wand and cast an anti-headache spell while Hermione took a long sip of water. She felt better immediately.

"I'm so sorry," she said, rather embarrassed. "I really didn't want to impinge on you like that. You should have just chucked me out."

A smile tucked at his mouth. "I thought about it but you seemed to sleep so deeply, I didn't want to disturb your rest."

Hermione grimaced, feeling rather awkward about the whole situation. "I hope I didn't snore?"

"You didn't."

Hermione started to extract herself from the folds of the blanket, trying to tuck up her wild hair at the same time. "What happened? I remember you gave me the invisibility cloak." She looked down on the table. Yes, there was the box with her hairpins on it. "And then I drank some more wine – which I definitely shouldn't have – and then we talked…but it's all rather hazy…"

She shook her head, trying to remember. Actually she had done most of the talking, hadn't she? Had she really told him about Thomas? Hermione cringed. _Great_, she thought, _blabbering to Snape about being dumped by your boyfriend. How embarrassing!_ It was all very blurred, but she was sure they had gone on talking about personal things, hadn't they? She must really have had a lot of alcohol to forget so much. How embarrassing. She just hoped she hadn't done anything stupid. Hermione furrowed her brow, trying to remember what had happened later on. And then her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened in shock. She stared at the man in front of her, suddenly remembering how she had reached out for him, how she had kissed him and how he had responded.

This couldn't be true, could it? She would never…and certainly he wouldn't… He couldn't look at her with such polite disinterest if she had done something like this, could he?

"Severus," she said, trying to control her voice. "I didn't do anything…improper last night?"

"What do you mean?" He seemed mildly surprised at her question, and yet Hermione thought that for a split second his gaze had flickered and he had averted his eyes. But perhaps she had only been imagining this.

"Just…I had some weird dreams."

His face was unreadable. "No, don't worry. You did nothing more improper than to fall asleep while listening to me talking."

Hermione felt relief, but there was still the nagging feeling that there was more to her memories. "I'm sorry I behaved like this. I should go now." She got up and gathered up the box and her hairpins. "Will I see you at breakfast?"

A strange look crossed his face but was gone immediately. "If you want to. How long do you need?"

"Give me 45 minutes."

"Very well, I'll meet you in the breakfast room."

Snape was relieved when she left his room. She remembered far too much. He should have performed a stronger memory charm, but these spells were notoriously imprecise and he hadn't wanted to tamper with her brain too much.

He had seen the very moment she had remembered. Her eyes widening with sudden shock, the incredulous expression on her face. And that was no surprise, really. What else should she feel but shock and revulsion?

And yet this had given him a sudden stab of pain. And later he had felt a disconcerting wave of pleasure when she had asked him to meet her for breakfast. Snape shook his head in annoyance. _I have to stop this_, he thought sternly. _This is leading nowhere, nowhere at all_. He hoped he had been able to convince her that nothing had happened. In any case, even if she remembered some of what had occurred, she would never be sure if it had been real or just a dream. That would have to be enough.

...

Hermione stood in the shower, trying to chase away the tiredness and confusion with cold water. Whatever had happened? She didn't think Snape would take advantage of her in any way. She wouldn't put a lot of things past him, but not that. But something had happened – or hadn't it? She was pretty sure that she had indeed told him about Thomas. But everything after that was so hazy she just couldn't be certain if it was real or only a dream.

And the question was not just if it had been real or not, but what she would prefer. Hermione stared at the tiles in front of her, oblivious to the water running down her body. It had been a good kiss, that much she was sure of. A very good kiss. Had it been just a fantasy, born of alcohol, frustration and loneliness? And if not…if she had really kissed him…and if he had responded in that way… _Good Lord, then I really am in trouble_…

But it seemed that even if it had been real, Snape didn't want to acknowledge it. And she certainly wouldn't go down to the breakfast room and ask "Severus, did we snog last night?"

Finally Hermione realized that she was shivering under the cold water, switched off the shower and got ready for breakfast. She guessed there was really nothing she could do right now. At least not as long as she was so uncertain about what had happened. She would watch Snape closely, and apart from that would play along.

Hermione observed Snape all during breakfast, but there was no indication that his behaviour towards her had changed in any way. He seemed perhaps a bit guarded, but when did he not.

"I'll leave in half an hour," she said when they had nearly finished. She hesitated a little, then asked, "shall we meet again in London, Friday in two weeks?"

Snape's face went rigid but then relaxed quickly. "I'm not sure I can make it. I'll keep you posted."

Hermione felt disappointed. But she certainly wouldn't thrust herself on him. "Very well. But if there's anything I can help you with, just send me a message."

"I will."

She held his gaze and it was Snape who looked away first, ostensibly reaching out for the teapot to pour himself another cup. He was torn between his instincts which told him to keep away from her, to break the contact once and for all, and the need not to raise her suspicion. And, worryingly, the need to see her again. What he required was time to get himself together, then everything would be fine.

When he was certain that his face wore the customary dispassionate expression, Snape looked up again. He had noticed how searchingly Hermione had observed him and had found it quite hard not to betray anything in front of her_. But I shouldn't worry_, he thought bitterly as he met her eyes squarely, _I'm good in wearing masks, am I not?_

_...  
_

"I think I kissed Snape," Hermione said, looking at Ginny apprehensively.

Ginny gaped at her. It was two days later and Hermione had come to London to see her friend. Whatever had happened – or not happened – wouldn't leave her alone and so she had decided to go and tell Ginny. Heaven knew she could need some advice.

After a few moments of shocked silence Ginny found her voice again. "What do you mean, you _think_ you kissed Snape?"

Hermione told her everything she remembered. When she had finished, Ginny shook her head incredulously. "Great Merlin, I don't know what to say."

Hermione grimaced. "I know. What really kills me is the uncertainty. If it was only a dream, well, then it's worrying enough but nobody can be held responsible for their dreams. But if it really happened… I have no idea what I should do then."

Ginny looked at her intently, her bright brown eyes full of pity. "This is serious, Hermione, no matter how you look at it. You're not the girl to kiss just anybody, even in your dreams or under the influence of alcohol." She hesitated, then asked. "Do you have feelings for Snape?"

"That's the great question, isn't it?" Hermione replied with a weak smile. She was playing nervously with some strands of her hair, noticed it and stopped. "I…I'm not sure. I must have, mustn't I? But it sounds impossible."

Ginny looked at her for a while, then said slowly. "Perhaps not. Forget that it's Snape, for a moment."

Hermione snorted but Ginny went on. "We're talking about a man who is considerably older than you. But that's not such a big deal in the wizarding world, and as long as you don't mind… Anyway, he is very intelligent. And very courageous, nobody can deny that. Fiercely loyal as well. All qualities that you have and value, too. Some might even say he has a sense of humour, if a rather twisted one. And he looks not too bad, apart from his hair and you told me that got better. Besides that," she paused, "he was there at the worst moment of your life. He probably even saved your life. Why should it be impossible for you to have feelings for him?"

Hermione stared at her friend but eventually shook her head. "You're right. But he is _Snape_, nevertheless. He…he was a Death Eater once, he was a terrible, terrible teacher, and it wasn't all for show. He admitted it to me. He really hated Harry, I don't know why. He did terrible things, voluntarily and involuntarily, and while I can admire him for his work as a double agent I can't ignore what it must have done to him. I…I can respect him, admire him. And I certainly feel pity for him. But I don't know if I could deal with the…darkness that is part of him…the darkness that he chose and that was forced on him. I don't know if I could…love him."

Ginny smiled crookedly. "You know as well as I do that you can't willingly decide whom to love or not to love. If you do, you do."

"I know."

They stared at each other for a while. Suddenly Ginny started to giggle. "I'm sorry, but you know, it's kind of funny."

Hermione huffed. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one having either erotic dreams about Snape or thrusting yourself upon him trying to snog him senseless."

Ginny burst out into laughter and after a few moments Hermione joined in. There was an edge of hysteria in it, but it felt good nevertheless.

"Take some chocolate," Ginny finally said when they had calmed down again, reaching for a box of chocolates and holding it towards Hermione. "It always helps. And keep me posted," she added with a mischievous glitter in her eyes. "I want to know all the saucy details."

Hermione grimaced. "I really don't know if I want there to be any… And after all, whatever happened, it doesn't seem that Snape wants to go for it, does it?"

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "Not surprising, really. If you actually kissed him, I guess he's even more surprised and shocked than you. After all you're his former student and were under the influence of alcohol. It would be a bit worrying if he'd immediately tried to ravish you, wouldn't it?"

"I guess so. I just wished I knew for certain what happened."

...

As soon as he had said good bye to Hermione after breakfast, Snape had done his best not to think of what had happened any more. He hadn't been very successful, though. Try as he might, over the following days he had a hard time holding the memories at bay. It didn't help that Dumbledore was extraordinarily curious about the premiere. Of course Snape told him nothing and gave no indication that anything special had happened. But Dumbledore's look was especially scrutinizing. Or was he starting imagining things? This was clearly getting out of hand.

The only thing that helped was to work even harder. That however also presented the problem what to do about Hermione and their relationship. For a while Snape thought about stopping all communication with her. She didn't have any way to find him, so he was safe. But he had to admit that he didn't want that. It would tell her that something was amiss, that something had actually happened. And it would also mean losing a valuable research partner – and that he'd never see her again. Which shouldn't be a problem, really. But somehow, enervatingly, it was.

So one week later Snape sat down and wrote a letter about the progress of his work and also asked if they could meet in London the next Friday.

Hermione was relieved when she got it. A part of her had been worried that Snape might stop writing to her – which would also have been an admission that something had happened. Now she was glad to hear from him, but none the wiser. The letter seemed rather cold and impersonal, but that was nothing new, really.

And so they took up their routine again, Hermione still fretting to know what had happened while Snape knew it all too well.

* * *

_Thanks so much for all your positive reviews! I know the memory charm is frustrating ;-), but taking into account Snape's personality and past I think it would be very hard for him to believe that anyone (let alone Hermione) could actually love him and to admit to himself that he might have feelings for anyone other than Lily. He has been alone (and more or less content with it) for so many years that any admission of emotions would make him vulnerable and threaten the peace he has found._


	17. A walk in the park

**A walk in the park**

A few days before Hermione was to meet Snape again she went to London to go to the cinema with some friends. She arrived a few hours earlier to spend some time in the bookshops on Charing Cross Road and, she had to admit to herself, to walk past the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione knew that it was rather pathetic, but she always did it when she was nearby. She would stop for a few moments in the shadow of a streetlight a few metres away and look at the door. But she never entered.

Of course she could anytime. She'd be welcome there, after all she was a heroine of the resistance. But what then? And so this time, like always, Hermione was about to walk on after a while when suddenly the door opened and Draco came out. His appearance made her stop abruptly, and this drew Draco's attention to her. His eyes widened and he stopped as well.

"Granger," he said slowly and gave a short nod.

She threw him what she hoped was a rather cold look. "Malfoy," she replied, then made to walk away.

"Wait!" He called after her.

Hermione stopped reluctantly.

"I'd like to talk to you. Just for a few minutes, if that's alright," he said.

Hermione stared at him, wondering what this was about. Eventually she gave a curt nod. "Ok. Let's go somewhere a bit more private."

She led him down a few streets in silence until they came to a small park. There Hermione went towards a bench and sat down, taking care that she was well away from Draco. She didn't think he'd try to harm her, but with him you never knew.

He must have read her thoughts, because with a sarcastic smile he said, "Don't worry, I'm not going to hex you."

Hermione just stared at him. She hadn't seen him for over six years and he looked…older. _We all are so much older_, she thought. _We were mere children then, weren't we?_ _But that doesn't change what we did, and what you did_.

His face was still pointed and pale, as were his eyes and his hair. _He's good-looking_, Hermione thought in a detached way. _There certainly are women who fall for this_. But Ginny had been right, there was a new quality in his face, a change in the way he looked at her. In the past there had been arrogant disdain, or anger, or sometimes fear in his eyes. Now he looked self-conscious and nervous.

"What do you want?" she asked, keen to get this over with.

"I wanted to apologize," he replied in a flat voice, his eyes never leaving her face.

Hermione drew in her breath. "Well, that's a bit unexpected." She looked at him through narrowed eyes. "So you're all reformed now?"

Draco snorted. "I try to. Listen, I know this is hard to believe. And I know I can never make amends for what I did. For what my parents did." He seemed to struggle with himself. His face was very tense but he didn't evade her gaze. "I am sorry for what happened."

Hermione still stared at him. "Why should I believe you?"

For a second the familiar arrogance was back on his face. "If I didn't mean it, why should I talk to you in the first place?"

"I don't know," Hermione replied, her voice full of suspicion. "To make everyone believe you're reformed?"

He shook his head. "They believe it anyway. Or if they don't, they don't care. And you're not part of our world anymore, so whatever happens here doesn't really matter."

Hermione had to concede that he had a point there, but she still watched him suspiciously.

Draco's face was very tense. "I don't expect your forgiveness, or anything," he went on, his voice clipped. "But I wanted you to know I'm sorry. Sorry for what I did during all those years, and sorry for what happened at my house when you were caught."

A cold wave of memories washed over Hermione and took her breath away. Her fear when they had been caught. The terrible pain when Bellatrix had tortured her. The panic that she'd be given to Fenrir. The werewolf's inhuman, greedy eyes... She had a hard time not to start shivering. "I know you didn't like what was going on," she said in a slightly shaky voice. "You were reluctant to participate, to give us away."

A mixture of pain and shame showed on Draco's face. "Yes, I was. But I wasn't brave enough. I am sorry."

Hermione just stared at him. After a while she nodded. "The war is over," she said in a flat tone. "Thanks for your apology."

Draco's face lit up. "Thanks for listening to me." He hesitated, then added, "Perhaps I'll see you around?"

"Perhaps," Hermione replied in a non-committal tone. She looked down on her watch. "I have to go."

"Of course. Good-bye, Hermione."

"Good-bye, Draco."

**…**

It was a hot August day when Hermione went to London to meet Snape again. She wore only a light summer dress, but when she arrived at the club and was shown into their customary room she saw that he obviously was not touched by the heat but wore his usual black suit with a black shirt. _His armour_, she suddenly thought, _just as the tightly buttoned gown had been a kind of armour, hadn't it?_

After what had happened – or not happened – the last time they had been together, Hermione felt a bit weird around him, still observing him for clues. Snape however treated her the way he always had, a bit more familiar now they were on first-name-basis, but not in a way that indicated that they had shared a passionate kiss. After a few hours Hermione resigned herself to the conclusion that either nothing had happened, or he wouldn't acknowledge it in any way, and her tension lessened. They made good progress and more than once she caught herself looking longingly out of the window into the beautiful summer day. At four o'clock they were as good as finished, and Hermione asked, "Why don't we go outside? It's far too nice to be stuck here."

Snape seemed surprised, but agreed after a few seconds of deliberation and so half an hour later they set out for St James's Park. As soon as they joined the people perambulating through the park, Hermione was struck anew by a question she had had since she had met Snape for the first time in Stratford.

"I was wondering," she said a bit hesitantly, "aren't you afraid to meet somebody you know?"

"You mean why I don't disguise myself in some way?"

Hermione nodded.

Snape was silent for a while, then said. "I am more than happy that most people think I am dead. And I employ a disguise for the few times when I go to places like Diagon Alley, where people would be sure to recognize me. Nowadays, however, you can do amazing things by owl-order, so that's not necessary very often. But I won't have my whole life dictated by a need for secrecy and deception. I had that long enough. So, yes, I risk being recognized by the odd wizard, but until now that never led to any harm. Dumbledore keeps me abreast with all the rumours that circulate about me."

"Well, I am glad you don't wear a disguise," Hermione stated. "Otherwise I would never have recognized you."

"Yes, that would have been sad indeed," Snape replied, his voice only a little sarcastic.

They walked around the sunlit park for a while and Hermione eyed the deck chairs distributed on the lawn longingly, but somehow she couldn't quite picture Snape lounging in one of them. "What about ice-cream?" she asked instead when she spotted a stall nearby.

Snape looked bemused. "I haven't had ice-cream for years."

"Then it's about time," Hermione stated resolutely. "Come, I'll treat you."

Snape was reluctant, but finally Hermione could persuade him and a bit later they walked on, ice-cream in hand. They found an empty bench not long afterwards and sat down to finish their ice. It was still rather hot and Hermione threw Snape, who had taken off his jacket but was still wearing his shirt buttoned down to the wrists, a questioning glance. "Aren't you a bit hot in this shirt?"

His face, which had been positively relaxed before, tensed. "I don't think it prudent to show my bare arms," he finally said after a few moments of silence.

The second she'd seen his face Hermione had understood. "I'm sorry, I forgot," she said, angry with herself and cursing her imprudence. She hesitated. "So it's still there?"

Snape just looked at her with an unreadable expression in his eyes. Then he cast a quick look around, buttoned up his left sleeve and drew it back to his elbow. And there it was, the Dark Mark. It had fainted considerably but it was still clearly visible against his very pale skin.

Hermione stared at it, transfixed, a mixture of shock, revulsion and pity fighting inside her. When she looked up she found Snape staring at her. "Have you tried to…remove it?" she asked quietly.

"No," Snape said in a tone of finality that kept Hermione from asking further questions. He broke the eye contact and buttoned up his sleeve again, and Hermione looked out into the park, her mind whirling with possible explanations why he didn't want to get rid of the mark that branded him for a lifetime.

**…**

Snape stared down on his shirtsleeve, glad that he had something to do and didn't have to face her inquisitive eyes. Why had he shown her the mark? To stop her from asking further questions, certainly. But perhaps also to make Hermione realize once and for all what he was, what he had been? To keep her away from him, to keep her from developing any feelings for him, for her sake and for his? But why should she have feelings for him in the first place? Wasn't he deluding himself?

"I met Draco," her clear voice cut through his thoughts.

Snape looked up quickly. "So he's back?"

"Yes. He works in the ministry, in the department of International Relations."

"I see. Where did you meet him?"

"In front of the Leaky Cauldron." Hermione suddenly looked rather self-conscious. "When I'm nearby I sometimes go there. Just to look at it."

"I see."

She shrugged her shoulders, still looking embarrassed. "I know it's silly. Anyway, he wanted to apologize."

Snape raised an eyebrow. He was pleasantly surprised. "Indeed. I'm glad to hear that."

The young woman gave him a thoughtful look. "You always hoped he'd come around finally?"

"I hoped so, yes." He paused, then went on. "Dumbledore wanted me to protect Draco, he wanted to shield him from the worst excesses of the Death Eaters."

Hermione's eyes suddenly widened. "That's why Dumbledore wanted you to kill him, isn't it? So Draco wouldn't have it on his conscience."

Snape felt his breath catch in his throat. "Yes," he said, trying hard to sound dispassionate.

She stared at him, her brown eyes full of shock and pity. It was disconcerting and Snape looked away. "Do you believe he's sincere?" He asked to break the uncomfortable tension that had developed.

"I'm not sure," Hermione replied. "He's Draco, after all. But it sounded as if it was really important for him to apologize for what he did to us, and for what happened at his house."

Snape looked at her with new interest. "Why is that? What happened at Malfoy Manor."

A shadow seemed to settle over Hermione's face and her voice was suddenly reluctant. "You don't know?"

"No. After your escape Lucius was very loath to tell anyone what had happened. I only know that you were caught when someone broke the taboo on Voldemort's name."

Hermione winced. "Yes." She hesitated, obviously troubled.

"You don't have to tell me if the memories are painful," Snape said, surprised at the soft tone of his voice.

She gave him a crooked smile and shook her head. "No, I'm alright." She paused and looked down on her hands for a while, but then met his eyes squarely and went on. "Harry broke the taboo. He didn't mean to, of course, he was angry and didn't think about it."

Snape snorted. Of course it had been Potter. How typical to risk everything just because he couldn't control his emotions. But he never could, could he?

"It was not his fault," Hermione said quietly, obviously guessing his thoughts. "Anyway, the Snatchers were upon us in a second. There was nothing we could do, the only thing I managed was to perform a Stinging Jinx on Harry to distort his facial features. Then we tried to talk our way out of it, but eventually they realized that it was very likely they had caught Harry." She gulped and her eyes assumed a faraway look. "Their leader was Greyback and they brought us to Malfoy Manor, hoping for a big reward. Lucius was overjoyed, of course. Draco was there for the holidays, and they asked him if we were who they thought we were. He was reluctant, claiming that he wasn't sure. But it didn't really help in the end." She stopped and looked down on her hands again, which were clutching her bag very hard.

"I'm glad to hear that he tried to help," Snape said quietly. He hesitated. "What happened then?"

Hermione looked up again. "They brought Ron and Harry into the cellar where they met Luna and Olivander. Harry had a sherd of a magical mirror in which he saw Aberforth, and he sent Dobby to help them. Dobby disapparated with Luna, Olivander and Dean who had been caught by the Snatchers, too. Then Pettigrew came down, and when he found Ron and Harry alone he fought them. Harry reminded him that he owed him his life and Pettigrew hesitated for a moment. But then his silver hand throttled him."

Snape drew in his breath. "So that's what happened," he said slowly. "It seems it wasn't such a great mistake to let him live after all. But what happened to you? You were not with your friends?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I wasn't," she said in a flat tone. "They had found Gryffindor's sword with us. The sword that was supposed to be in Bellatrix's vault at Gringott's. So Bellatrix kept me above to interrogate me."

"I am sorry," Snape said. He felt horrified. Too often had he seen Bellatrix 'interrogating' her victims. _Of course she went for the muggle-born_, he thought, anger and pity and a disconcerting tenderness welling up inside him.

Hermione gave him a bitter smile. "The worst thing was that I didn't want her to stop," she said quietly. "Because she had promised to give me to Greyback as soon as she would be finished with me."

Snape felt coldness spread inside him. "I am sorry," he said again, feeling very awkward. He wanted to comfort her but didn't know what to do.

Hermione shook her head. "Harry and Ron came up in time, there was a fight and we managed to escape. I don't really remember anything of that, though, I was hardly conscious at that time."

Snape furrowed his brow. "What did you tell them about the sword?"

Her tense white face was suddenly lit by a small smile. "I told them it was just a copy. They fetched Griphook, the goblin who had been caught with us, and Harry had persuaded him to back up our story."

"That was well thought," Snape said slowly, impressed by how she had acted in such a trying situation.

Her eyes lit up, but then her smile faded. "We were lucky," she said. "Always lucky. Apart from the end."

The sun was shining warmly and there were happy, smiling people all around them. But right now Snape felt cold and sad. "I am glad those days are over," he said, wanting to chase away the pain from her eyes.

Hermione shook her head. "Sometimes I wish they weren't," she whispered.

There was nothing he could reply to this, so he just met the gaze of her large brown eyes. After a while she shook her head, as if trying to wake up, and smiled crookedly. "There's no use wishing for the past to return. I'm sorry I turned this nice afternoon into such a sorry affair."

"No, don't apologize," Snape said a bit stiffly. "I'm glad you told me."

They both looked out into the park in silence for a few minutes. Suddenly Snape asked "Would you like to walk around a bit more?"

Hermione's face lit up with a genuine smile and Snape felt an odd lightness in his stomach. "Of course," she replied.

He got up and, on an impulse, offered her his arm. Hermione's eyes widened but then she linked arms with him, her hand resting lightly on the Dark Mark, covering it with unfamiliar warmth.


	18. Photographs

**Photographs**

When Hermione had left the club after their customary dinner, Snape returned to their room to collect some books he had left there. But even after he had put everything together he lingered, grateful for the quiet and solitude.

After what had happened in Stratford he had decided to restrict their relationship to purely professional matters. To keep his distance, and, especially, not to give her any indication that anything had happened between them. But it hadn't worked, had it? Once again he had let her get too close, had entered into personal conversation. And there was a part of him which had liked it, which had been pleased at the trust she had shown him.

What was going on with him? Over the last weeks he had alternately tried not to think about what had happened, or to rationalise it away. But it hadn't helped much, had it? Was he developing feelings for her? No, it couldn't be. He had loved one woman, Lily, and that would never change. He wouldn't betray her.

_But she's dead_, a traitorous voice in his head told him. _Has been dead for many many years. And she wouldn't want you to miss out on love just because you're still hankering after her._

Love. No, it was ridiculous. Impossible. He had been alone for a long time, and Hermione was an intelligent and attractive woman who treated him as if he were a human being. That was explanation enough for his disconcerting reaction to her. He would get over it, eventually.

**…**

When Snape returned to his house this evening he went straight to his study. "I heard that Draco is back," he told Dumbledore's portrait

"Yes, he is," the elder wizard replied, looking mildly curious. "Did Hermione tell you?"

"Yes. And she told me that he apologized to her."

A smile lit up Dumbledor's face. "Ah. I'm glad to hear that. Actually Draco apologized to me, too."

"Indeed." Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yes. And even better, he broke with his parents. That is the reason why he is now working at the ministry, he has to earn his living."

"That's good news."

"Oh yes it is. He seems to have thought a great deal about what happened, and I believe that his regrets are sincere." Dumbledore looked at Snape with the benign penetrating gaze that always made him feel nervous. "We saved him, Severus," he finally said. "You saved him. I know that killing me was a great sacrifice, that I asked much of you. But it was worth it."

There were many things Snape wanted to say about this but he didn't, just felt his face go rigid.

Dumbledore kept on looking at him and the twinkle in his eyes was slowly replaced by pity. "I am sorry my boy," he finally said gently.

Snape felt a strange lump in his throat. He didn't want Dumbledore to look at him like that. "Hermione told me she was tortured by Bellatrix," he said to change the subject. "I didn't know that."

"Yes she was," Dumbledore replied. "She suffered much. But she didn't break, she still had the strength to deceive Bellatrix. She is an extraordinary girl."

"Yes she is." Snape looked at Dumbledore's calm face, the bright eyes beaming behind the half-moon spectacles. _Hermione was a valuable instrument,_ he suddenly thought,_ just as you knew she would be. But did you ever really care what happened to her? Did you care what happened to me, what killing you meant for me?_ Sometimes he still felt hot, helpless anger because of what Dumbledore had made him do.

The elder wizard didn't seem to notice what was going on inside him, just looked at him with his customary calm expression, and suddenly Snape thought, _his mask is just as good as mine, isn't it? Always a benign smile, but does anyone know what's really going on behind it?_

He turned around abruptly and sat down at his desk, trying to ignore the feeling that Dumbledore was still looking at him.

**…**

Early in September Hermione was invited to a party at another college. The beginning of the new term was drawing near and the first students were coming back to Cambridge. She wasn't really keen on going since she knew hardly anyone at the college, but John would be there and had asked her to come.

When she entered the small games' room in which the party was taking place she thought once again that she'd rather spent the evening with a good book. _I'm getting too old for this_, she thought wryly as she spotted some indefinable punch which had been put in what looked suspiciously like a plastic wastebasket. There was no one there she knew apart from a socially handicapped computer sciences student who was very eager to show her his new palm, talking non-stop and obviously not troubled by her monosyllabic answers. She was very grateful when John arrived about fifteen minutes later.

"Hermione, great you're here!" he shouted, giving her a large grin. He started to rummage in the bag he was carrying and drew out an envelope about ten inches long which he held out towards Hermione.

"What's that?" she asked, looking at John questioningly.

"The RSC photographer took some pictures at the party," John explained. "He thought you and your friend might like this."

Hermione opened the envelope and drew out two large photographs, both showing the same picture. She and Snape in profile, dancing. He was bending towards her, obviously saying something to her, looking unusually relaxed. She was looking up at him with a smile on her face. It was a beautiful picture.

"Thanks, it's really nice," she said, rather thrown by this sudden intrusion of a subject she had very much tried not to think about.

"I think so, too." John's attention was caught by some other friends and Hermione was left alone for a while. She didn't mind it but retreated to a dim corner of the room and took out the photos once again. It was strange to see Snape and herself together like that. So…normal. Hermione shook her head lightly. She really should stop thinking about Snape more than was necessary. This was growing into an obsession

"Is that a wastebasket in which they have put the punch?" John suddenly asked next to her, jerking Hermione out of her reveries.

"Seems like it." She grinned. "The joys of student life."

John just shook his head. "I'm getting too old for this stuff."

**…**

A few days later Hermione met Snape in London for their usual meeting. She wasn't in the best of moods. With the beginning of the new semester approaching, her friends had started to come back to Cambridge, and there were many who didn't know yet that she and Thomas had split up. She had had to tell several people over the last few days, and that in return had brought back all sorts of memories and sad thoughts.

She was looking forward to the meeting, though. It would get her away from Cambridge and her dark thoughts, and she was eager to know how Snape's latest experiments had been going. A few weeks ago Hermione had had a rather unconventional idea which combined traditional magical potion making with modern molecular biology. If her calculations were right, then this idea might be a real breakthrough. Snape hadn't been convinced at first, but Hermione had been able to persuade him to try it out. She was certain that it would work and during the last weeks had found much pleasure in imagining how smug she'd feel when he'd acknowledge that she had been right.

Again it struck her how much this whole project had come to mean to her. Not only because of the knowledge that she was contributing to something really important, but also because of her cooperation with Snape. Somehow the feeling that Snape found her contributions valuable was important to her. _So am I still the overachieving student who wants to impress her teacher?_ Hermione thought wryly. _I guess I am, in a way_. But she also had the sneaking feeling that she wanted to impress Snape for another reason, a reason she didn't really want to think about too much.

But there was no harm in imagining how he would have to admit that her idea had worked out, had indeed been quite brilliant – was there?

Snape felt rather smug, too. Granted, their last meeting hadn't quite gone according to his plan. Their walk in the park had become far too familiar, had brought disconcerting thoughts and feelings. But this time the weather was bad, Hermione was not clad in one of those flimsy summer dresses but in sensible non-revealing clothes, and they would be staying in their room for the whole meeting, just talking about work and nothing else. When she had entered their room, unpacked her stuff and sat down next to him, he found that he could look at her completely impassively, without any disturbing thoughts or feelings. Finally he had got himself together again.

"How did the experiment go?" Hermione asked as soon as she had sat down, her face alight with expectation.

"I'm afraid it didn't go too well," Snape replied.

"Oh," The look of happy excitement on her face vanished and was replaced by doubt and uncertainty. "What do you mean?"

"When I added the last ingredient the potion didn't react the way we expected."

Hermione felt a wave of frustration wash over her. She had invested so much time and thought in this approach, and what was worse, had persuaded Snape to invest much of his time and resources, too. And now it seemed that she had been mistaken.

"So what happened?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

"It exploded."

Hermione gaped at him in horror. "It what? But why? Were you hurt?"

Snape shook his head. "Not badly."

Hermione was horrified. "I'm so sorry. I don't understand why that happened." She stared at him with a faraway look for a few more moments, then suddenly started scribbling down formulas and equations very fast.

Snape looked at her, intrigued. He could understand a bit of what she was doing, but he had to admit that most of it was too advanced for him. She was brilliant, even if this time it hadn't worked out. And he had the feeling that she didn't even know how good she was.

It was a shame that she had been wrong. Sometimes it was frustrating, working like this without a laboratory. They could only discuss and plan things, not try them out directly. More than once over the last months Snape had thought how much easier it would be to work with her in a laboratory. But he could hardly install one at his club, and he certainly wouldn't take her to his own laboratory. That was out of the question, especially since that unfortunate incident in Stratford. Completely out of the question.

Hermione was still filling more and more pages with mysterious formulas, oblivious to his presence, and so Snape turned to his own work, leaving her to her calculations. After about twenty minutes Hermione made a frustrated noise and he looked up again. She was staring down on her notes and he was struck by the downcast look on her face.

"How could I miss that," she murmured, looking at her calculations. Her face was tense and there was anger and bewilderment in her voice.

"So you found the mistake?"

She looked up abruptly. "Yes. I'm sorry, there was a fundamental flaw in my calculations." Hermione looked deeply unhappy. "I'm so sorry I put you in danger with this. You were right from the start, this was a stupid idea. Now you've lost much time and valuable ingredients because of me."

He shook his head. "Don't worry. Actually I got some ideas from it."

She didn't seem to listen to him. "And you got injured because of me… I nearly blew you up! I should have been more thorough." She looked down on her calculations again and gave a small, bitter laugh. "I'm sorry, I guess I was just too full of my great ideas. I should have trusted you, after all you are the Potions Master."

Snape felt strangely worried seeing how downcast she was. "You mustn't think that," he said. "You've made several good suggestions in the past."

Hermione shook her head violently but didn't meet Snape's eyes. "You could have been seriously hurt - even killed. I put your whole project in danger with this," she said quietly.

"Don't be ridiculous." Snape said a bit sharply. He paused. "You are very important to this project," he suddenly found himself saying stiffly.

Her head jerked up and there was doubt in her eyes. "Am I?"

Somehow Snape didn't want to look at her. "Your contributions are very valuable," he said. "As I mentioned I got some ideas from them, look here…"

He started rummaging in his notes and then passed her a few sheets.

Hermione looked at them, still feeling dejected and angry with herself. But Snape was right, these results were interesting and soon she was writing down calculations again. Eventually her mood rose again. It helped nobody if she chastened herself for what had happened. There would always be mistakes and wrong approaches, the trick was to learn from them.

After dinner they returned to their room to get their stuff and suddenly Hermione remembered John's photographs. "I have something for you," she told Snape, got out the envelope and held it out to him. "The RSC photographer took some pictures at the party and John asked me to give this to you. I got one, too."

Snape drew out the photograph, looked at it for a few seconds, and then put it back in the envelope. "That's very nice of your friend," he said. "Please give my thanks to him."

"I will."

Snape bowed over his notes, packing together everything. A few seconds later he was finished and straightened up again. "Shall we go?"

**…**

When Snape unpacked his bag that night in his study, he was glad that Dumbledore wasn't in his portrait.

For several minutes he stared down on the photograph, feeling a strange mixture of disconcertion and sadness. It was a nice picture. He looked…happy? He wasn't sure, but he knew that it was dangerous to look at the picture for too long, to get lost in the thoughts it created.

So much for his composure and peace of mind.

It'd be best to get rid of the photograph, to destroy it.

Yes, he should definitely destroy it. After all it was only a picture, what strange weakness kept him from it? Snape made to tear it up, but then hesitated. He stared at the photograph for a few more moments, then quickly put it into a drawer, turned and walked out of his study.

* * *

_Thanks so much for your kind reviews, they really are a great motivator!_


	19. Shadows of the past

**Shadows of the past**

It was a warm night in late September. Snape was sitting in his living room, the windows wide open, staring at a glass of dark red wine he had just poured himself. About an hour ago he had had a real breakthrough in his work. He wasn't certain yet if it'd work, but as soon as the potion that was now brewing in the laboratory would be finished he'd know for sure. A small smile played around his lips. Tomorrow he'd write to Hermione about it. He had used one of the approaches they had discussed at their last meeting, and it had worked out very well indeed. She'd be so excited…

He allowed his thoughts to linger on how she'd react when she got his letter. It would be nice to be there, to see her surprise and joy… But he called his thoughts back, knowing that he was venturing into dangerous territory there.

Snape took a sip of wine. He could ask her to meet him in London next week, to talk about his – their – breakthrough… There was still much work to do, though – which was good, because otherwise there would be no reason for them to keep up their correspondence, would there? He took another sip, his brow furrowing. He was surprisingly alarmed by that thought. Not for the first time he wondered how on earth he had become so attached to his former student. Yes, he should never forget that: his former student, much younger than he, who had not only been best friends with Potter but also terribly annoying.

Suddenly Snape felt a dull pain in his temples. He had hardly slept for the last few days, too preoccupied with his experiments. Perhaps he should switch to water instead of wine? With a flicker of his wand he conjured a glass and took a deep drought. It didn't help much, though, during the following minutes the pain in his head was getting worse. Snape rubbed at his temples, wondering if he should get a headache potion. But somehow it didn't seem so important.

Snape stared at his wand which he had pot on the table next to his armchair. There was something he wanted to do with it, wasn't there? Or something he wanted to get? He wasn't quite sure. His thoughts were drifting and he found it increasingly hard to focus on anything. There was only throbbing pain and a strange feeling of dissociation, as if he didn't really care. His vision was becoming blurred, too. But somehow this didn't worry him that much. Only at the edge of his consciousness was the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right. Snape shook his head, ignoring the pain, trying to think straight again. But it was so hard, so hard to focus, to even keep his eyes open. If he'd just go to sleep, perhaps then everything would get right again? Sleep would be really nice… His thoughts drifted off, but at the back of his mind there was an irritating voice which just wouldn't let him sleep. _Think!_ An increasingly smaller part of his consciousness tried to tell him. _Concentrate!_

With a huge effort Snape hit his right hand hard against the table. The sudden pain woke him out of the strange haziness that had settled over him, and for a second he could think again. Suddenly adrenaline was cursing through his veins. Poison. It must be, nothing else could bring about such a state. He staggered up, swaying, the haziness washing over him again. He had to get to his laboratory, had to get a bezoar. _How silly_, Snape thought as the room was swirling around him and he frantically searched for the way out. _How silly not to have one at me as I had in the old times. How silly to feel save_.

Finally he found the door. Fortunately the laboratory was only two rooms away, but Snape found it increasingly hard to see anything at all, to keep conscious. It seemed ages until he arrived at the door to the laboratory. Everything was swimming before his eyes and there was a strange sirring sound in his ears. At least he knew exactly where he kept the bezoar, on a large rack in the right corner of the room. Concentrating furiously, Snape lunged towards the shelf, his head now filled with panic. He mustn't lose consciousness before he found the bezoar, he just mustn't. Finally his hands made contact with the rack, but where was the stone? Snape was nearly blind now, groping around the shelves, trying to control his shaking hands which unintentionally knocked items off the cupboard. His breath was coming in ragged gulps and with the little part of his brain that could still think he was hoping fervently that the bezoar wasn't among the items he had knocked off. The sirring in his ears was getting louder and louder and suddenly his knees buckled. Frantically Snape held on to the cupboard, not able to keep himself upright any longer. From far away he suddenly heard the worried voice of his house elf but he couldn't understand what she was saying and when he tried to answer only incoherent mumbling came out of his mouth.

Snape wanted to sleep. What was he doing here anyway? All he wanted was to let go, to lie still on the floor and sink into the darkness that appeared more tempting with every second. Suddenly his groping hands hit upon a familiar shape, but he didn't know or care what it was any longer. He just wanted to sleep. But somehow his fingers didn't let go, and as he sank onto the floor a last spark of realization hit him and he shoved the stone into his mouth. Then all turned into darkness.

**…**

Hermione had decided to call it a day. The following morning she'd go home to her parents' to look after their house and Crookshanks while they were in France for a week. Her bag was packed, her work finished and she was looking forward to a few lazy days of reading before the new term would start early in October. She was standing in her small bathroom, brushing her teeth, when she suddenly heard the familiar sound of someone apparating. Hermione whirled around to look through the open door into her room and saw a house-elf she had never seen before. It looked extremely distressed and its eyes were large with fear.

"Mistress," it said, and Hermione realized that it was female. "Are you Miss Hermione Granger?"

As Hermione quickly spat out the toothpaste a host of worried thoughts were chasing round her mind. A house elf apparating to her rooms in the middle of the night – whatever did this mean? Nothing good, probably. And she had thought that she had left all this behind. "I am," she told the elf, turning towards her, "but who are you? And what are you doing here?"

The elf's eyes lit up. "I am Rose, Mistress. Please, come with me, my master needs your help. Please."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "Who is your master?"

The elf didn't say a word, but her face twitched and she looked at Hermione imploringly. An inner fight seemed to be going on inside her, and she wrung her hands. "Please, Mistress…Rose…can't tell you, but please, come."

Hermione had a sudden idea. "Wait. Is it Snape? And did he forbid you to tell anyone that he is your master?"

Relief flickered across the house-elf's face. It seemed as if she was about to nod, but then her face contorted and she was shaking all over.

Hermione was pretty sure now that the elf belonged to Snape, and suddenly what she had been saying hit her. Something had happened to Snape, something very serious that made his house-elf disobey his orders. All of a sudden it felt as if a cold hand had gripped her heart. "Alright," Hermione said, glad that her voice didn't betray how shaky she suddenly felt. She quickly grabbed a jacket and cast around for her shoes frantically. Luckily she hadn't got undressed yet. "Tell me what happened."

The elf's face twitched even more. "Master's…not well…," she managed to press out.

Hermione realized that there was no use forcing the elf who was obviously under a strict order not to tell anything about Snape. "Can you take me to him?"

"Yes Mistress, just hold onto me."

Hermione quickly got into her shoes, silently cursing herself that she hadn't got her wand yet. There had been a few times during the last months when she'd been very close to taking it with her to Cambridge, but she never had. Well, she'd have to do without it. When Hermione was finished she reached out for the elf, and as soon as she touched her she felt the familiar disapparation sensation.

They apparated in what appeared to be Snape's laboratory. A few feet away, he was lying on the floor in the middle of what looked like the spilt contents of a rack that was standing at the wall next to him. He was motionless.

Hermione quickly rushed towards him, her heart beating fast. She put her fingers to his throat, searching for a pulse, and after a few, horrible moments found it, very weak but steady.

"He's alive," she said and the elf, who was crouching next to her, made a few noises of happiness.

Hermione shook Snape lightly, then stronger, but nothing happened.

"Master won't wake up," Rose whispered, "I tried."

"What happened?" Hermione asked, her mind racing what to do now.

"Rose doesn't know. Rose heard strange noises, and when she entered the laboratory she saw master acting strangely, as if he was blind. And he couldn't speak anymore. And then he put a stone into his mouth and fell down."

_A __bezoar!_ Hermione thought. She quickly checked Snape's mouth and removed the stone. _So he thought he had been poisoned. And really, that seems to be the only explanation._

"Is Dumbledore in his portrait?" she asked in an urgent voice.

The elf shook her head, looking troubled. "Rose wanted to ask him for help first, but he wasn't there. And then Rose remembered master's friend and thought that she might help."

Hermione was thinking fast. Snape didn't seem in immediate danger, but she really had no idea what was the matter with him. For all she knew he could suddenly die. "Did he eat or drink anything before that happened?" she asked.

Rose nodded. "Some wine."

Hermione's pulse quickened. "Where is it?"

"In the living room."

"Rose, please make sure that whatever remains there are of the things your master ate or drank today are secured. We will need them to determine what poisoned him. And then please get Dumbledore's portrait here, so we know when he comes back." _Which will hopefully be quite soon_, she thought fervently. When Rose had left, Hermione started to search Snape's robes. She had to make sure that he was in no immediate danger, and she could only do that with a wand.

She found it quickly, a long, slender wand made of some dark wood. Hermione hesitated for a moment, then spoke a spell that would tell her if Snape's vital signs were alright. She had learned several first aid spells before she had set out for the Horcrux hunt with Harry and Ron, and they came back into her mind as if she'd learned them just a week ago, not more than seven years.

The air above Snape's body started to glow in a bright orange colour, which meant that his metabolism was down, but that his status was stable. He looked disconcertingly still and vulnerable, lying on the bare floor. Quickly Hermione got out of the jacket she had pulled over her T-shirt and shoved it under his head. Then she cast a warming spell to keep him from the chill of the laboratory's cold floor. After that she performed two more diagnose spells and two spells to revive him, but he stayed unconscious.

Hermione was glad that she could concentrate on doing magic. Performing those spells kept her reasonably calm and helped her keep her thoughts away from what had happened to Snape. It was surprising how easily the magic returned to her, after such a long time and with a strange wand. And it felt…natural.

Rose had come back by then, carrying a large empty picture frame and glancing anxiously at her unconscious master. "He's not in danger at the moment," Hermione tried to sooth her, sounding calmer than she felt. "Could you magic him into his bed?"

The elf nodded and vanished together with Snape. Hermione took up her jacket again and wondered if she should go in search for his bedroom or just wait until Rose would come and get her. She looked around the laboratory curiously. It was well equipped and it was apparent that Snape spent much time there. A potion was brewing over a low fire and when Hermione went and had a look at it she found a parchment full of Snape's spidery writing.

_Does this have anything to do with the anti-werewolf potion?_ She wondered as she scanned the parchment. She didn't understand everything, but was pretty sure that it had some connection to what they had discussed last time in London. Hermione bent over the mud brown potion, sniffing it cautiously. _I guess I should try and make sure that the potion isn't spoilt – Snape would be very annoyed when one of his experiments went awry because of something as trivial as him getting poisoned._

On a second parchment Snape had written

_Brew for 59 hours_

_Add 2 ounces of pulverized amber every 4 hours, _

_and 5 drops of infusion 82d every 8.5 hours, _

_stir slowly anticlockwise for three minutes afterwards._

Hermione looked around and saw three clocks nearby, all of which were showing 2 hours and 8 minutes. She glanced at her watch. It was 23:37 now, so she guessed Snape had started brewing this potion at 21:29. One clock was to keep track of the time the potion had been brewing, and the other two clocks would be used to keep track of when to add the amber and the infusion. She would have to remember to come back here in 112 minutes.

After giving a last, curious look to the potion, Hermione turned towards a window nearby to look out and see if she could find out where she was. It was rather dark outside, the thin moon casting only scant light on the surroundings. When Hermione opened the window to have a better look she found that she was on the ground floor of what seemed to be a large stone cottage. As far as she could see there weren't any other buildings nearby. The house seemed to be surrounded by a large garden and there was a dark mass in the background which might be a forest.

Hermione closed the window again and left the laboratory, taking Dumbledore's still empty portrait with her. Rose should have had enough time now to set Snape up in his bed.

She had hardly left the laboratory when she met the elf who led her along the corridor and up a staircase to the first floor corridor and Snape's bedroom. It was rather bare, but surprisingly bright and friendly looking. Snape was lying on a narrow bed, wearing gray pajamas and covered with a blanket. Hermione quickly ran a further scan, but his condition hadn't changed.

"What's going on here? Miss Granger, what are you doing here?" Hermione turned around, feeling greatly relieved. Dumbledore had returned to his portrait and was now unsuccessfully trying to crane his painted neck to look at Snape.

"Professor, I'm so glad you're back," she said and then told Dumbledore what had happened. When she had finished he looked deeply troubled.

"I'm afraid there is only one way," he finally said. "We need to get Poppy."

Hermione nodded, but Rose gasped. "Please," she said trembling, "you mustn't tell anybody about master!"

Dumbledore looked at her with pity in his eyes and shook his head. "I know you only want to serve your master's wishes, but he is in great danger. Neither Miss Granger nor I can help him."

Rose looked at him, still trembling, her eyes wide with distress.

"Don't worry," Dumbledore said gently, "I'll take the full responsibility. Your master will know that you didn't want to do it and only followed my orders."

Rose still didn't look happy about it but finally nodded.

"Good," Dumbledore said. "Hermione? I'll leave now for Hogwarts and take Rose with me. Nobody can apparate to this house or the grounds without her help. Please stay here and look after Severus."

"Of course," Hermione replied and saw Dumbledore walk out of his portrait and Rose disappear. Then she was alone with Snape.

He looked surprisingly peaceful and somehow younger than usually. More vulnerable. _You're switching into nurse-modus_, Hermione thought with a wry smile as she sat down on a chair nearby, twirling his wand in her fingers. She still felt very worried, but Dumbledore's return and the knowledge that Poppy would be there soon had calmed her down considerably.

Her eyes switched from Snape's thin, pale face to his wand between her fingers. The first voluntary magic she'd done for over five years… And it had felt good, natural… Hermione sighed. She'd think about this when this was over, when Snape was conscious again. Suddenly coldness swept over her. What when he never woke up again? Her throat constricted and there was a strange ache in her breast. No, of course he would recover. Poppy was the best medi-witch she knew, she'd know what to do. And Snape had survived so much, he just wouldn't die now. But she had thought the same of Harry, hadn't she?...

Just to make sure Hermione ran the diagnostic scans once more, then started pacing around the room, waiting for Dumbledore to return. About 10 minutes later he reappeared in his portrait and Rose and Madame Pomfrey apparated a few seconds later.

Madame Pomfrey didn't seem surprised to see Hermione, so Dumbledore must have told her. She immediately went to Snape and ran a few, much more elaborate scans than Hermione had performed. Without turning her eyes away from him she asked Hermione what she had done and nodded approvingly when she told her. Then she started rummaging in the voluminous bag she had brought with her, took out a great bottle of what looked like strengthening potion, measured a small cup of it and gently instilled it into his mouth. After a few moments she had finished and turned towards them.

"You're right," she said, "he has been poisoned. Luckily he got hold of the bezoar, otherwise he'd be much worse affected."

"Do you know what it is?" Hermione asked anxiously. "And will he be ok?"

Madame Pomfrey gave her a searching look. "I have a suspicion," she replied, "but I'll have to run a few tests before I'm sure. If I'm right then, yes, he'll regain consciousness again." She turned to Rose. "Please show me to the laboratory and then bring everything your master ate or drank during the last twelve hours." She turned towards Hermione and pointed to the bottle. "This is a special strengthening potion. If I'm not back in 40 minutes, give him the same amount I gave him just now. And fetch me if his condition changes."

Hermione nodded and Madame Pomfrey left the room, leaving her staring down at Snape's still form.

"He will be alright again," Dumbledore's gentle voice woke her out of her reveries.

"I know," Hermione said with a slightly forced smile. "Do you have any idea who could have done this to him?"

Dumbledore shook his head, his face very serious. "I have a suspicion, but there are many people who hold some grudge against Severus… And it seems that one of them knows that he's still alive, and even worse knows how to get at him."

A sudden thought struck Hermione. "Is this house still safe?"

"I think so. Severus put some very powerful enchantments and wards around it and I checked, they are still in place. Nobody can enter here without his consent, or without Rose's help."

"And yet whoever it was managed to get the poison in here," Hermione said, not wholly convinced.

"That's true." Dumbledore sighed. "And as soon as Severus is awake again we will have to find out how this could happen." He paused, then said. "It was good of you to come."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Of course I came. He's my friend."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I'm glad to hear that. How extraordinary."

Hermione smiled crookedly. "I know. Who would have thought that I'd ever say that."

"Who would have, indeed. But I am very glad."

Hermione didn't know what to answer to this. Now the excitement had abated a little she felt slightly uncomfortable in the former headmaster's presence. She had never been as close to him as Harry, and still didn't know what she should feel about his behaviour in the war against Voldemort, about his way of manipulating them. She guessed that subconsciously she still held him responsible for Harry's and Ron's deaths, although she knew that he certainly hadn't wanted them to die. The few times she had seen Dumbledore's portrait since the Battle had been rather strained encounters. She didn't really know what to say to him, how to behave around him, and so she just kept silent. Dumbledore didn't seem to mind, or if he did he didn't show it, and so the two of them just looked at Snape in silence.

About half an hour later Madame Pomfrey returned. "It's just what I suspected," she said after she had checked Snape again. "He was given the Memorate Potion."

"I see," Dumbledore said and Hermione drew in her breath. Only Rose, who had returned with the elder witch, looked bewildered.

"Please, mistress," she said to Madame Pomfrey, "what does that mean?"

Madame Pomfrey looked down on the distressed elf and her serious expression softened. "It is a potion that was used in former centuries to punish criminals. Whoever drinks the potion falls into a deep sleep in which he relives the most terrible moments of his life."

Rose stared at her, her large eyes wide with shock. "Will Master wake up again?"

Madame Pomfrey smiled at her reassuringly. "He was lucky. The duration of the unconsciousness depends on the strength of the potion and the amount swallowed. In earlier times it was made so strong that those who drank it never woke up, and finally died of hunger, dehydration and the stress of constantly reliving their worst memories. But whoever gave this to Severus didn't want him to die. The potion was not very strong, and it looks as if Severus only drank a bit of the poisoned wine. And he was lucky to get to the bezoar in time."

"So how long will it take?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not sure, but probably no more than 40 hours."

Hermione drew in her breath. 40 hours of reliving his worst memories seemed bad enough. But at least Snape would wake up again.

"He doesn't seem troubled right now," she said, glancing down at his still form.

"No," Madame Pomfrey replied, "it takes some time until the reaction sets in. But it definitely will, probably in about two hours." She looked at Hermione rather seriously. "I have to ask you to stay here and look after him. I have a severe case of Spattergroit at Hogwarts and I have to be with the student tonight."

Hermione felt rather worried but nodded. "Of course. What do I have to do?"

"There's really nothing much you can do," Madame Pomfrey replied. "Make sure that he doesn't hurt himself accidentally and that he drinks enough. You should also give him some of the strengthening potion every three hours. If anything changes or if he wakes up, send the elf to get me. And don't be worried. He will have some terrible hours, but he's been through worse, he'll live."

* * *

_The plot thickens…;-)._

_Alright, I know the Hermione-nurses-Snape-plotline is probably the most overused and cheesiest one in HGSS-history, but I just couldn't resist (and I needed a reason to get her to his house)._


	20. Vigil

**Vigil**

Madame Pomfrey left after giving Hermione a few more instructions. Given that Snape was still showing no signs of distress Hermione asked Rose to take her back to Cambridge so she could get a few things for the night, leaving Dumbledore's portrait to look after Snape. Since she'd already packed for going to her parents she only had to grab her bag and was back in a few minutes.

Now it was time to check on the potion, but before she could leave Snape's bedroom Dumbledore stopped her.

"Would you take me with you?"

"Of course," Hermione replied, surprised. "You don't want to stay?"

Dumbledore gave her a crooked smile. "I don't think that Severus would want me to witness what will happen here tonight."

"I see," Hermione said, thinking that he'd probably like her to witness it even less.

"No, he won't like it," Dumbledore said, who seemed to have followed her train of thought. "But he'll know that it was necessary."

Hermione felt not really convinced but knew that there was nothing she could do about it. She called Rose to look after Snape as long as she'd be gone, took Dumbledore's portrait, put it at its place in Snape's study and then went to the laboratory.

There she measured the pulverized amber, added it to the potion and started stirring. It felt strange doing all this again, but just like with the magic everything returned easily, as if no time had passed at all. When Hermione was finished stirring, she looked around for a clock to take with her so she'd know when the next ingredient was due. She found one without long searching, Snape's laboratory being very tidy and well organized.

Even after she had found the clock, Hermione still lingered. She wasn't keen on going back, on seeing Snape lying so helplessly in his bed. And she was even less keen to be with him when the potion would start working. The thought of seeing him suffer was disconcerting.

But this wasn't about her, was it? Her job was to look after him, to make sure that he got through this without having to suffer more than was unavoidable. And so after a few minutes she went back and took over from Rose. Snape was still looking as if asleep and Hermione sat down in an armchair in a corner of the room. She had brought a book with her and prepared for a long night.

It was shortly after two o'clock when the trembling started. Snape's eyes were closed, his mouth shut, but he shook violently. It was terrible to look at but Madame Pomfrey had told her that something like that would happen. There was nothing much Hermione could do, but there was also no use trying to read and she spent the next hour staring at her former teacher.

About an hour later the trembling stopped. Snape seemed asleep again, but his sleep was obviously troubled. He tossed and turned in his bed, his face very white and tense and sometimes twisted with pain. As Madame Pomfrey had instructed her, Hermione tried to make him drink the strengthening potion, but it was very hard to make him swallow.

It felt surreal to be there, in Snape's dimly lit bedroom, of all places, looking at him fighting the demons of his past. If during her schooldays someone had told her that she'd once be doing this, she'd have thought them nuts. And even more nuts if they'd told her that once she'd truly care for Snape…

_Was it really nearly four years ago that we met in Stratford?_ Hermione thought. _It's true, the older I get, the more time seems to fly. But much has changed in those years, hasn't it? If I'd never met him, would my life still be defined by grief for Ron and Harry? Probably not. But I'd never have had to chance to work with him, to fight lycanthorpy. To find out that there's another side to him than the snarling and cruel teacher..._

Hermione suddenly noticed that she was gnawing at her right thumb nervously. She didn't fool herself, the fact of her being here in his house would affect their relationship. Snape wouldn't like it at all, Hermione was certain of it. And God only knew how he'd react when he found out that she'd seen him under the influence of the Memorate Potion. Hermione winced. Even if over the years they had reached some kind of tentative relationship, Snape had always been very careful not to let it get too personal. No, he wouldn't like it at all to wake up and find her so close.

Suddenly the memory of her leaning towards him, her lips touching his, her hand drawing his head towards her, flashed through her mind.

_No no no!_ Hermione thought fervently, shaking her head in annoyance. _I don't even know if that ever happened, and this is certainly not the time to think about it. Get a grip!_

But afterwards it felt even more awkward to be there watching over him, to be in a situation so personal that it would probably have him recoil with embarrassment had he been conscious.

To distract herself Hermione called Rose and asked her for some strong coffee. Actually there was no reason why the elf shouldn't take care of her master herself, but Hermione couldn't just leave Snape and go to sleep now. She'd let Rose take over in the morning, but for the moment Hermione felt better looking after him and the potion herself.

Snape's tossing and turning was increasing now. He was mumbling in a low voice, but even as she leant closer Hermione couldn't understand what he was saying.

Staring at his white face, Hermione was suddenly reminded of a conversation she had had years ago. It had been during the Christmas holidays in their fifth year when they had been staying at Grimmauld Place. Snape had visited to report to the Order. Hermione hadn't been present then, but later had come down into the kitchen where she had found Snape and Sirius still trading more or less veiled insults, Lupin watching them with a worried look on his face. After her entry Snape soon ended the conversation, leaving the kitchen with a disdainful snarl and the customary billowing of his robes. Hermione, Sirius and Lupin remained sitting at the kitchen table.

Hermione threw Sirius a worried glance. Every time she was present at a meeting between him and Snape she was shocked anew by the hatred and aggressiveness between them. What must have happened in the past to produce so much antagonism?

"You really don't like him, do you?" she asked tentatively.

Sirius threw her a burning look. He was still fuming and for a second she was afraid that he would lash out at her.

"Snivellus?" He gave a rough, barking laugh. "How ever did you realize that?"

Hermione cringed inwardly at the disparaging name. She didn't like Snape, far from it, but there were aspects in Sirius' behaviour towards him that were jarring, that gave her glimpses of dark sides of his character. She liked him very much, but she never idealized him the way that Harry did. Sirius might have been a great friend to James and Lupin, but she could just as easily see him as an arrogant, good-looking boy who didn't mind bullying whomever he perceived as a freak.

"Why can't you just leave him alone," Lupin's voice cut through her thoughts. He sounded tired.

"Did you hear what he said?" Sirius growled, his voice full of frustration. "He's provoking me, boasting with how he risks his life every day while I am hiding away in here."

"So what? You shouldn't let him get to you." Lupin paused. "And no matter what you think about him, he _is_ risking his life. I wouldn't want to change with him."

Sirius shook his head vehemently. "I still don't trust him, no matter what Dumbledore says." He turned to Hermione. "And you shouldn't trust him, either. He always messed with the Dark Arts, even as a child, and you can't tell me that he isn't still fascinated by them. He never had any friends apart from Death Eaters, and no wonder, who would want to spend time with Snape?" Sirius sneered. "He's as cold as a fish. Or did you ever see him show any emotions apart from arrogance and disdain?"

They both didn't reply and Sirius nodded. "I didn't think so. Perhaps he hasn't any. Or if he has they are probably really twisted. As I said, Hermione, be careful around him."

He gave her a burning look, got up and stamped out of the kitchen.

Hermione looked after him for a few moments, then turned her eyes towards Lupin. He looked even more tired and ill than usual and suddenly Hermione felt a wave of affection. She had always liked the gentle and intelligent man and seeing him like that gave her pain.

Lupin shook his head and smiled sadly. "I wished he wouldn't let Severus get to him so easily."

"Their antagonism is…frightening," Hermione said slowly.

Lupin sighed. "Yes, it is."

Hermione looked at him searchingly. "So what do you think about Professor Snape?"

Lupin snorted. "Do I think he is an unfeeling bastard who just waits for his chance to betray us? No, I don't. If Dumbledore trusts him, then I trust him – although I have to admit that it's sometimes hard."

He went up, fetched a decanter of water and poured Hermione and himself a glass.

"Snape didn't have an easy life when he was a student," Lupin went on when he had sat down again. "That doesn't excuse what he did, but it helps to explain it. He was an outsider, even in Slytherin. Sirius is right, he didn't have any friends… or hardly any." He seemed about to add something, but didn't. There was a thoughtful expression on his face but when Hermione threw him a questioning look he avoided her eyes. "I don't think he was all bad, though," Lupin finally went on, meeting Hermione's gaze again. "I guess in a way he and I were kind of similar. Both freaks you might say. But I was lucky, I was sorted into Gryffindor and found great friends. You know, sometimes I think it's a great mistake to sort the children, especially at such an early age."

He took a long sip of water. "Severus is not an easy man to be around. Certainly not. He is bitter and insecure and unfair. Cruel sometimes. But he is also very brave. He needn't have gone back to work as a double agent. He's risking his life every time he answers Voldemort's call, and Voldemort is not an easy master. He hurts him, sometimes."

Hermione felt a cold shiver run down her spine as she listened to Lupin. "Do you know why he went back?" She asked.

Lupin shook his head. "No, I don't. And I'd really like to know. He must hate Voldemort very much. I just wished he weren't so cruel and unjust to Harry, Ron and you." He gave her a crooked smile. "It's because of James. Everything remotely connected to him sends him over the edge. They hated each other right from the start." He hesitated and suddenly looked self-conscious. "To some extent it's understandable. We weren't very nice to him."

He stopped and Hermione threw him a questioning glance. "Children can be cruel," Lupin said with a bitter smile, and there was a faraway look in his eyes. After a few moments he focused on Hermione again. "But Snape was no angel, either." Lupin shrugged his shoulders. "To be honest I don't know what to make of him. When I taught at Hogwarts he wasn't friendly towards me – and I hadn't expected that – but he brewed me the Wolfsbane Potion every month so I would be spared the transformation. He could have declined to do it, or could have tempered with the potion to make me suffer, but he didn't. I thanked him for it, tried to establish some kind of relationship. But try as I might, I never got any real access to him. I guess he must be rather lonely – or at least I'd be in his situation. But it's hard to say what's going on inside him, hard to read anything apart from anger and disdain in that impenetrable dispassionate face of his."

Suddenly Lupin smiled at Hermione. "I'm glad you're not as quick to damn and hate him as Harry and Ron are – not that I can't understand them, mind you, with the way Severus is treating them. But it's not as easy as that."

Hermione nodded slowly, her head spinning with new thoughts. During the following months she thought about Lupin's words a great deal, trying to keep an open mind about Snape. Although he certainly didn't make it easy for her. But Lupin had been right, there was more to the Potion's Master than met the eye. She tried to explain this to Harry and Ron a few times, but Harry didn't want to hear anything which he perceived as an attack on his father and Sirius, and Ron didn't care, really.

Ron… She had loved him, Hermione was certain of it. And she missed him still with a fierce ache. But during the last years she had wondered more and more if they would really have had a future. They had been good friends, and she never doubted that. But lovers? Livelong companions? Ron had a lot of qualities, but intellectual inquisitiveness had not been among them. He had never understood her thirst and passion for knowledge, her urge for meticulous perfection. At first Hermione had pushed these thoughts away, feeling as if she were betraying him. But she was far too honest to herself not to know that she was right, and not to eventually realize that she didn't mar Ron's memory by having such thoughts.

But by God did she still miss him and Harry. Missed the warm and secure feeling of belonging, of there being two people who needed and appreciated her and who would always be there for her, no matter how dark the times were.

Suddenly another memory came into her mind. The night when Snape had killed Dumbledore, the night that had changed everything.

Of course her life had been overshadowed by Voldemort before, but most of the time, Hermione had to admit, she had been more worried about school and her grades than about the dark wizard. This had changed after that night. Darkness had broken into her life and school had suddenly seemed almost trivial.

She remembered vividly how she was waiting in a dark niche outside Snape's office with Luna. Watching over Snape at Harry's behest so that he wouldn't try anything. Hermione snorted silently, staring out into the dimly lit corridor. It was getting late, the dungeons weren't the most comfortable of places, and she was convinced that Harry was getting paranoid. After all Dumbledore trusted Snape completely, didn't he?

She didn't even dare talk to Luna for fear that Snape would hear them and come out of his office. And what then? What was she supposed to tell him? That they thought he was a traitor and that they were there to stop him? Fat chance. Once again Hermione cursed Harry and his paranoia. What had he been thinking they should do? Any moment Snape could come out of his office to go to bed. He wouldn't spend the whole night in there, would he? As it was, Hermione was surprised at how long he was obviously working. And when he came out he'd probably detect them. Over the years Hermione had learned to deal with Snape's anger, but she winced when she imagined how he'd react to finding them lurking in front of his office. And even if he didn't see them, they couldn't just follow him to his quarters. But if they didn't, they'd never find them on their own to stand further watch over Snape because they had no idea where they were.

What had Harry been thinking?

It was nearly midnight when they suddenly heard hurried footsteps. Hermione and Luna looked at each other and quickly receded further into the dark niche. Was it Ron, Ginny or Neville coming to tell them that everything was alright and that they could go to bed now?

But when the person came in view they saw that it was Professor Flitwick. His usually cheerful face was white and he rushed towards Snape's office without taking any notice of them.

"Death Eaters!" he panted, and Hermione felt suddenly very cold. "Death Eaters in the castle!"

When he arrived at the office door he just burst in without knocking. "Severus," they heard him say, gasping with exhaustion, "there are Death Eaters in the castle. You have to go back with me and help."

They didn't hear any reply, just a dull thump. Then Snape hurried out of his room. Unconsciously Hermione and Luna had stepped a few feet forward, to be able to hear better, and when Snape came out of his office he saw them.

There was no reaction in his face, none at all. Afterwards Hermione tried very hard to remember it, to find out if she should have noticed something. It was very dim in the corridor, but she saw his face clearly, light from his office spilling over it. Snape stood very still and his eyes were very dark, but without the angry or disdainful gleam that they normally had when he was looking at her. In fact there was nothing in them at all.

He stared at them for a second, then said, "Professor Flitwick has collapsed. Take care of him. I'm going to help fight the Death Eaters."

"Yes Professor," Hermione replied, her thoughts racing, but he had already turned and was walking down the corridor very fast. That was the last time she saw him until the Battle of Hogwarts.

Hermione and Luna went into his office then and took care of Flitwick. None of them suspected that anything was not right. They tried to make Flitwick as comfortable as possible but weren't able to revive him, and eventually they set out to find their friends. But when they arrived everything was already over. And Dumbledore was dead.

Afterwards Hermione had recalled that night over and over, feeling guilty that she hadn't noticed anything, guilty that she hadn't trusted Harry. Perhaps she could have stopped Snape, could have prevented him from killing Dumbledore.

And then, when later she knew what had really happened, she still recalled that night again and again, wondering about Snape. He must have known what would happen the second Flitwick had burst into his office. Must have known that now he would have to kill Dumbledore. He probably had waited for this moment during the whole year…

Hermione shivered. Again Snape stirred restlessly in his sleep, and she stared down at his drawn face, so white it looked like marble, and at his long fingers which were clenching the blanket convulsively. How could he have lived with that knowledge? And would he be relieving that moment again now?


	21. Memories

**Memories**

The rest of the night passed without anything much happening. Hermione watched over Snape, trying to make him drink the Strengthening Potion and some water from time to time and checking his status every hour, but he didn't seem to be in any serious danger. She also kept checking on Snape's potion. Apart from that she tried not to fall asleep.

In the morning Hermione set Dumbledore's portrait to watch over Snape again, then had Rose take her to her parents to collect Crookshanks. With her parent's gone on holidays someone had to look after him.

When the elf had taken her and Crookshanks back, Hermione took the chance to go outside and have a quick look at the house and its surroundings by daylight. As she had guessed, it was a rather large, two-storeyed stone cottage. It stood in a spacious, well kept garden and was surrounded by what looked like a forest. A gravelled path came out from under the trees and led to the entrance door. Over the treetops Hermione could discern some mountains in the distance. Perhaps she was in Scotland or Wales? Or even Ireland?

She returned back into the house again and let take Rose over watching Snape for a few hours to get some sleep. The elf had prepared a guestroom for her further down the corridor and Hermione sank onto the bed with a sigh of relief. Like the rest of the house the room was well kept but rather bare. Obviously Snape wasn't much into decorating. But she hadn't really expected that, had she? Hermione smiled, then yawned. She was terribly tired. Lazily she watched Crookshanks jump onto her bed and then turn around treading the blanked with his paws. Finally satisfied, he settled down next to her, purring loudly. She reached out to caress him but soon fell asleep, his purring in her ears.

Far too soon the alarm clock jerked her out of her sleep again. She needed to check on the potion, and when she had done that Hermione felt too worried about Snape to go back to sleep. Madame Pomfrey had told her that his condition would get worse and worse and that she should expect the crisis during the second night. After this he'd hopefully wake up again.

Snape's bedroom was now filled with daylight, but the bright day didn't lessen the pang that Hermione felt when she saw him lying in his bed like this. She asked Rose for something to eat and settled down in the armchair again. In spite of Madame Pomfrey's words, during the day there was hardly any change in Snape's condition. Short periods in which he was lying still alternated with longer periods in which he was tossing and turning in his bed, sometimes mumbling incoherent words. More than once Hermione woke up with a start, finding that she had dozed off in her armchair. But in the evening it was clear that, indeed, this second night would be much worse than the first. Snape was shaking again and turning in his bed so violently that Hermione cast a barrier around it so he wouldn't accidentally fall out and hurt himself.

Snape's mumbling was also much louder now, and from time to time she could understand single words or parts of sentences. Then, shortly before eleven o'clock, Snape suddenly gave a whimpering sob.

"Please, Father, don't hurt her," he said, his voice frightened and pleading. "Please, don't."

Hermione stared at him, a cold shiver running down her spine.

"Why don't you leave him," he suddenly went on in an urgent and entreating tone. "Please, why don't you just go away? Or why don't you fight him, you can do magic, you could easily overpower him. I could help you, Ma. Please, why don't you do anything?"

Snape went on muttering but Hermione couldn't understand what he was saying. Actually she was grateful for this. She felt thrown by this involuntary glimpse into what must have been his childhood and didn't really want to be witness to more of it. It was like secretly listening to something she wasn't supposed to hear.

Once again Hermione thought that she didn't want to be here, to witness this. Snape would be furious when he found out. Perhaps he wouldn't want to be around her any more after this? Perhaps he'd just chuck her out and never write to her again? The thought was painful and Hermione pushed it away, feeling miserable.

But when he woke up he must realize that she hadn't had a choice. When Rose had asked her for help, and when Madame Pomfrey had asked her to stay she couldn't just have declined to do so. She was Snape's friend, for God's sake. Or at least she saw herself as his friend, even if he probably didn't. So she would keep on watching over him as well as she could and worry about the rest when he woke up again.

Hermione rubbed her temples, feeling terribly tired. But there was no way she would go to sleep now. And so she sat curled up in the armchair which she had moved next to Snape's bed, staring at the man who was tormented by his past.

Shortly before two o'clock Hermione perceived a subtle change in Snape's face. Until now it had mostly been very tense, or twisted with pain. Now it was suddenly full of furious anger, uncannily reminding her of how he had often looked at Harry.

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" Snape suddenly spat.

Hermione recoiled, shocked by his words. As she stared down on him, on the fury and disdain in his face, she suddenly felt very strange. Of course she had known that at one time in his life Snape had been a follower of Voldemort and had probably believed in his pureblood supremacy ethos. But to hear him express it was frightening. He didn't believe it anymore, she was quite certain of it. But it was jarring to hear him express it, to see this side of him rise up from the past.

Hermione was jerked out of her thoughts when Snape suddenly gave what sounded like a choked sob. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, in such a desperate tone that Hermione felt her throat constrict. "Please forgive me. Please, I didn't mean it, I never thought…please…" the rest was unintelligible again, but Snape's body was still shaken by choked sobs, his hands frantically clutching his blanket.

From that point on it got worse and worse. Snape cried out more than once and his face was now continually contorted with pain. Hermione felt nearly sick with pity and helplessness.

"I won't do it, Dumbledore," he suddenly said, his voice surprisingly normal. "This is madness, you can't demand this from me." After a while he went on in an anguished whisper, "don't ask that of me. Please." He was silent for a few seconds, then said so quietly Hermione hardly heard it, "And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?"

Hermione felt a great lump in her throat, wanting nothing more than to comfort him but not knowing how to do that. With an effort she tore her eyes away from Snape's anguished face and poured herself another cup of coffee, cradling the hot cup in her hands, grateful for its warmths.

"Don't call me coward!" Snape suddenly cried out, startling Hermione. His face was twisted with despair and hatred, and his breathing harsh. Hermione's heart was hammering. Harry had told her about this, about Snape's flight and his attempts to stop him. She felt very cold as she stared at Snape's deathly pale face.

Suddenly his eyes opened and he became terribly still. Hermione thought for a moment that he had woken up, but realized quickly that he didn't see her. He was still far away, caught in his memories.

"No," Snape whispered, his voice full of fear. "No, please, it's not her, please…" His voice became frantic again, obviously pleading with someone. "Hide them all. Keep her – them – safe. Please. Anything, I'll do whatever you want, but you have to save her!"

Hermione's thoughts were reeling. What was he talking about? She stared down on Snape who suddenly seemed not the person she thought she knew. What had happened to give so much pain to him? And whom was he talking about?

"NO!" he suddenly cried out, a cry of endless desperation. A single tear ran down his white face and his hoarse throat voiced words that she couldn't understand.

On an impulse Hermione reached out and took his hand. Until now she had avoided touching him, but that was the only thing she could think of doing now. His fingers were ice cold. She had no idea if it helped, if he even noticed. His eyes were still open, but he showed no sign that he knew she was there.

"I thought you were going to keep her safe," Snape said, his voice broken by silent sobs. "I wish I were dead." He seemed to rally a bit after that, his breathing became steadier, but the pain and desperation didn't leave his face. "Never tell, Dumbledore!" he suddenly said, his voice urgent. "I cannot bear…" He stared in front of him in silence for a few more minutes, then closed his eyes again, his face still drawn by intense suffering. Hermione was grateful that she didn't have to see the anguish and desperation in his eyes anymore. Her heart was hammering wildly and only now did she notice that her face was wet, too.

There were more attacks in the hours that followed, but none as terrible as that one.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save him," Snape suddenly whispered nearly two hours later. "I'm sorry he died. And his friend…I couldn't hold him back. The poor girl."

Hermione felt a strange jolt. Was he talking about her? About Harry, Ron and her? She leant closer, but Snape had fallen silent again. He seemed to calm down now and his breathing was easier.

She relaxed at bit then, her mind in turmoil over what had happened. Hermione felt terribly drawn and tired, not because of the lack of sleep, but because of what she had witnessed. Most of it she didn't understand, but Snape's intense anguish had touched her deeply. Suddenly her own sorrows seemed rather small. How had he been able to live with such memories, such desperation? And what did it mean? Had there been a woman he had been close to, a woman he couldn't save? And was this somehow wound up with the reason why Dumbledore had trusted him so completely? After all they had never found out the true reason for Dumbledore's trust. Was it because of this woman?

Somehow that was a disconcerting thought. _Don't be silly,_ Hermione told herself. _Why should it be so surprising to find out that Snape has once been in love? You of all people know that he's no monster_. But try as she might, Hermione couldn't get rid of an odd feeling, as if her world had subtly changed and she didn't yet know how to find her way around.

Softly Hermione put Snape's hand, which she had held all the time, back on the blanket. She found that she could make him swallow some Strengthening Potion and water without much effort. Then she wrung out a piece of soft cloth in cool water and washed the sweat from his face. It was as white as marble and if she hadn't seen the slight rise and fall of his chest she would have wondered if he was still alive. A wave of sudden tenderness washed over her as she looked down on Snape's still form. Hermione hesitated for a second, then reached out to stroke his cheek very lightly. She drew her hand back immediately, her mind reeling, and sat there staring at the sleeping man. He would be alright now.


	22. Awake again

**Awake again**

Snape felt terrible when he woke up. His head was pounding like mad and when he carefully opened his eyes the dim light filtering through the drawn blinds caused so much pain he closed them again immediately.

What had happened to him?

Slowly the memories came back. His breakthrough with the potion…the wine…the strange reaction it caused…and then a blurred jumble of terrible memories, unbearable anguish and endless despair and guilt…

Snape's eyes snapped open in spite of the pain and he scrambled into a sitting position. He realized that he was in his bed and automatically reached for the wand which was always lying beside him. But it wasn't there.

A sudden noise next to his bed made him jerk around. He found himself staring at Hermione Granger.

"What are you doing here?" he shouted, or would have shouted if his voice had produced more than a hoarse whisper.

She got up from the armchair in which she had been sitting and bent over him. Only then did he notice the look of relief on her face. "I'm glad you're awake," she said and reached for a decanter with water from a nearby shelf. "Drink that, you must be very thirsty."

Snape was burning with questions but knew that she was right and took the glass of water she filled for him. He emptied it thirstily while she went and opened one of the blinds to let more light into the room. Snape winced. The pain in his head was making him dizzy and he felt as exhausted as if he hadn't slept for several days. When Hermione returned to his bed she poured a glass from a bottle he had never seen before and handed it to him. "Drink this, it'll help," she said.

Snape sniffed the potion distrustfully. "A Headache Potion?" he croaked.

Hermione nodded and he drank it down, glad for the relief it brought. Only when he had done this did she sit down next to his bed again.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice still raspy but much better now.

Hermione looked uncomfortable. "It seems that someone tried to poison you. With the Memorate Potion. Luckily you drank only a little and got to a bezoar in time."

Snape drew in his breath. "I see." He grimaced. "That certainly accounts for my headache."

Hermione was already handing him another glass. "Drink this. It's a combined Headache and Strengthening Potion."

Snape took the glass, but didn't drink it immediately. "Did anyone check on the wards?"

Hermione nodded. "Dumbledore did. They are intact."

Snape drank down the potion but still looked at her warily. "But that still doesn't explain why you are here."

"Rose came to me," Hermione said. "You mustn't be angry with her," she quickly added when she saw that Snape's face got clouded. "She thought you were dying and was mad with fear. Dumbledore was gone and I was the only one she could think of asking for help."

Snape stared at Hermione, then gave a short nod. "I see. Don't be afraid, I'm not angry with her. I'm not someone who takes out his anger on his house-elf."

Hermione smiled in relief and a strange mixture of emotions overcame him. Resentment that she was here, in his house, but also an odd and heady gladness. Snape quickly pushed it away. There was more pressing business now, like trying to make sense of what had happened.

"But how did you know about the Memorate Potion?"

Hermione looked guilty again. "I'm sorry, but we called Madame Pomfrey. We didn't know what was the matter with you and were worried that you wouldn't wake up again."

Snape shut his eyes in annoyance. "That was Dumbledore's idea, wasn't it?" he asked. "Well, I guess in this situation there was nothing else you could do," he conceded grudgingly, opening his eyes again. "How long was I unconscious?"

"About 34 hours. It's nearly half past 8 a.m. now."

"And where is Poppy?"

"Unfortunately she couldn't stay."

Snape stared at Hermione. "So she left you here alone?"

"Yes." The young woman looked uncomfortable. "She told me to send Rose if I needed help." Hermione threw him a quick, rather self-conscious and worried look, then swiftly turned to the shelf where Poppy had obviously left a few other potions.

Snape was glad that she wasn't looking at him. If she had been the only one to look after him all this time, she must have witnessed what the potion had done to him. He had no memories of what had happened during the last hours, had no idea how vocal he had been while he had relived the worst times of his life. But he certainly wasn't thrilled by the thought that Hermione might have heard his most terrible memories.

"Drink this," she said, handing him another glass and he downed it without question. _How much does she know?_ was resonating in his head. Suddenly another thought struck him.

"I have to go to the laboratory," he said, trying to get out of his bed.

Hermione immediately caught his arm and gently held him back. "Your experiment is alright," she said. He threw her a doubting look but stopped and sank back into the pillows again. "I found your notes and followed the instructions. Is it the Anti-Werewolf Potion?"

"Yes it is, and I think I might have made a breakthrough."

Her eyes lit up and she looked at him excitedly.

"But we won't know for certain until it is finished," he went on.

"Don't worry," she said, "I'll make sure it turns out fine."

"Still, I think I should have a look at it," he insisted.

Hermione however shook her head vehemently. "Madame Pomfrey told me to see to it that you'd rest. You should sleep now."

Snape snorted. "I feel perfectly alright. I'll get up."

"No, I don't think you will," Hermione said, sounding a bit guilty.

"What do you mean," Snape asked, alarmed. He threw a suspicious look to the glass he had just drunk from. Suddenly he had to yawn. "Did you give me a Sleeping Draught?"

"Sorry," Hermione said. "I'll see you when you wake up again."

"You sneaky, traitorous Gryffindor," Snape mumbled before sleep claimed him.

**…**

When Snape woke up again his head felt much better. But when he opened his eyes he found himself staring at a rather hairy, rather ugly face which was hardly ten inches away from his.

Scrambling up into a sitting position, he saw a large ginger cat with a strangely squashed face lying next to him. The cat's yellow eyes followed him and the tip of its tail twitched lazily, but apart from that it didn't seem daunted in the least.

Snape stared at it. It was the only living thing in the room and a quick glance at his watch told him that it was 13 minutes past 2 p.m. He looked back at the cat again. "You must be Hermione's familiar," he said, eying it carefully. Somewhere he had already seen it... Snape's eyes narrowed. "Wait, you're the cat that helped Black!"

Crookshanks threw him an innocent look, then started licking his right front paw.

Snape wasn't fooled by this behaviour and kept on staring at the cat suspiciously. "You're no normal cat, are you?" he finally said. "I bet there's a good part of kneazle in you."

The cat was still grooming itself, for all appearances oblivious to the penetrating stare of the wizard. Hermione's familiar. She was here, in his house, and what was worse she had seen him through the last days and nights when he had spilled Merlin knew what secrets from his past. Snape winced. He didn't remember the details of his dreams, but he knew his worst memories well enough to be certain that the last two days and nights hadn't been pleasant. He still felt terribly exhausted and when he tried to remember his dreams he was overwhelmed by a choking feeling of terror and pain and guilt. And she had been with him the whole time…

Snape groaned quietly. Hermione shouldn't be here. He didn't know if his house was still safe, after all someone had managed to poison him. Looking around, Snape found his wand lying next to his bed. He reached out for it and quickly performed several spells to check if his protective wards were still in place. As Hermione had told him, everything seemed alright. And yet someone had penetrated into his house. Someone who knew that he was still alive, someone who obviously bore a grudge against him.

Snape didn't want Hermione here, in his house. And not only because of the potential danger. It was acceptable to meet her in London, or in Stratford, on quasi neutral ground. But this was his house, his private sanctuary, and he didn't want her so close. Especially didn't want her to see him like this. Merlin, she'd been in his bedroom!

Snape stared at the cat, his thoughts turning around the young woman and what she might have heard and seen during the last two days. He had to make her leave as quickly as possible, for her own safety. But he couldn't just chuck her out after everything she'd done for him. It had been good of her to come to look after him, to care for him…

Did she care for him?

Snape angrily recalled his thoughts and suddenly realized that the cat was staring at him with a knowing stare that was definitely un-cattish.

"You should go and tell your mistress that I'm awake," Snape growled, feeling slightly ridiculous to be daunted by a cat.

Hermione's familiar yawned lazily, then got up, stretched, and finally hopped off his bed with a flicker of its tail. When it arrived at the closed door, it jumped up lightly to open it and left the room.

Snape looked after it for a few seconds before he gingerly raised himself out of the bed. He felt weak, but not so weak to prevent him from getting up. Next to his bed stood a bottle with what he recognized as the combined Headache and Strengthening Potion. Snape poured himself a liberal glass and downed it quickly. Apart from the headache and exhaustion there shouldn't be any lasting after-effects of the Memorate Potion.

After sitting on his bed for a few more moments, Snape felt himself well enough to get up. He also noticed that he was rather hungry, but that would have to wait. He needed to take a shower, to dress and to look after his potion. And then he'd go and find Hermione.

After a few minutes Snape left his adjacent bathroom, clean and in his usual clothes. He felt much better, and he was just about to go to the laboratory when there was a tentative knock on the door.

"Come in," he called, and Hermione entered, the cat at her heels.

"You drugged me," he said accusatory. "And then you set your familiar to watch over me. I'm sure he shed on my bed."

She smiled, seeing that he was obviously better. "I'm sorry," she said, but there was no remorse in her voice. "How are you feeling now?"

"Better. Quite well enough to get up. And I won't let you drug me again."

She threw him a scrutinizing look, then nodded. "Alright. But I'll have to inform Madame Pomfrey that you're up. She wants to examine you."

Snape snorted. He wasn't at all keen on facing his former colleague. She would be very angry with him, and she would ask questions. But he knew that he couldn't keep her from coming. "I'll be in the laboratory. And then I'll eat something." He hesitated and added, "How about you. Are you hungry?"

"Definitely. Oh, Dumbledore would like to see you."

"I thought so," Snape replied. "Please tell him I'll come to my study as soon as I'm finished with the potion."

When he entered the laboratory, Snape half feared to see his experiment spoilt, but Hermione had taken good care of it. He wouldn't be sure until it was finished, but it looked alright.

Although he was soon done with checking on the potion, Snape didn't leave the laboratory yet. Was he trying to put off facing Hermione? _Ridiculous_, he thought, but knew that, indeed, he was. After what had happened, Snape felt tense and uncomfortable in her presence. He didn't know what he had said under the influence of the Memorate Potion, and there was still the wretched business of that kiss in Stratford. Suddenly a cold hand gripped his heart. What if he had said something about that? But wouldn't she behave differently if he had? And her kiss didn't really qualify for one of the worst moments of his life, on the contrary…

Snape quickly recalled his thoughts from that dangerous territory. No, Hermione had behaved normal, a bit cautious perhaps, but that was to be expected, after all they had left the safe territory of their 'business'-meetings in London and Stratford. This was a completely new situation, one in which both of them didn't really know how to behave towards each other. But if everything went according to Snape's wishes it would be a very short situation indeed.

When he finally left his laboratory and went to his study he found Hermione deep in conversation with Dumbledore's portrait. The elder wizard's face lit up when he saw Snape.

"Ah, Severus," he said, positively beaming. "I am glad you are better. I am sorry for the measures we had to take, but they were necessary."

Snape nodded curtly. "I guess so." He turned to Hermione. "Have you informed Poppy?"

"Yes, she'll arrive in about an hour." Hermione hesitated, then went on. "I was discussing this with Professor Dumbledore. Do you have any idea who did this to you?"

Snape exchanged a quick glance with the elder wizard. "Unfortunately not. There might be a candidate, Gerold Wilson, a man whose sister was murdered by Death Eaters…" Snape saw comprehension dawn on Hermione's face, comprehension and the question if he had been present, if he had been involved. He met her questioning eyes unflinchingly and without showing any emotion. "But there are more than enough candidates," he went on. "If it isn't someone related to a victim, it could be a former Death Eater or someone related to them."

"That's what I thought," Hermione said, looking a bit pale.

"The Ministry still hasn't found Gerold," Dumbledore cut in. "Perhaps you could make me a list with other possible candidates, then I'll see what I can find out about them."

"Thank you," Snape replied. "The Memorate Potion could give us a clue. It's not a widely known potion and the recipe is not readily available. Moreover, you have to have a certain skill in Potions to be able to brew it. Of the Death Eaters who are still alive and who are not in Azkaban any longer, there is none with the necessary knowledge.

Dumbledore was looking pensively. "If you ignore death and prison, who could have done it?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You think that not only I could have faked my death? Well, Karkoff of course. Lestrange and possibly Rookwood."

"What about Wilkes and Chatswold?"

Snape shook his head. "Wilkes is definitely dead. And Chatswold is simply not clever enough."

"Who are they?" Hermione asked. "I've never heard their names."

"Aramis Wilkes was killed by Aurors in the First War," Snape explained. "He was very young when he joined, a Ravenclaw who was lured by Voldemort's promises of knowledge and glory. Very competitive and quite skilled in Potions. He'd probably be able to brew the Memorate Potion, but I saw his corpse, he's definitely dead. Constantine Chatswold on the other hand was helpless in Potions. And he left the country before Voldemort was defeated the first time. Bellatrix had killed his sister, who was something like Voldemort's favourite. Chatswold was furious, especially when Voldemort didn't want to do anything about it. So even if Chatswold had the necessary skills, there would be no motive for him to take revenge on me."

"Then what about Lucius Malfoy?" Hermione asked. "Even if he himself might not be able to brew the potion, I'm sure he knows people who could. He and Narcissa got out of Azkaban two years ago, didn't they?"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "And they certainly have a motive."

"And just a few weeks ago Draco apologized to me," Hermione went on. "He seemed sincere, but perhaps he knows that you and I are working together?"

Snape threw her a penetrating stare. "You think they might have used you to get to me? I had hoped that Draco's regrets were sincere. But you never know with Lucius. In that case you could be in danger, too."

Hermione shrugged. "It was just an idea. We don't know for sure."

But Snape wasn't soothed by this. How stupid of him not to realize that her association with him had put Hermione in danger right from the beginning. "Even if it isn't Lucius, if whoever did this knows where I live you're in danger in any case," he said, his voice tense.

"But we don't know if he knows where you live, do we?" Hermione replied, meeting his gaze defiantly. "I'm certainly not leaving if that's what you're implying."

He stared at her, at her serious expression and the raised chin. Stupid Gryffindor bravery. "No, we don't," he conceded. "I got the wine from a merchant where I order by owl. Whoever did this might have tampered with the bottle at the merchant. I'll send a letter to ask about my last order."

"Do that," Dumbledore nodded. "And write me that list. And I'll have a special eye on Malfoy."

"Very well," Snape replied, still feeling worried about Hermione's involvement in all of this. "Let's go and eat something."

* * *

_As always thanks for your comments! _

_I'm a great fan of Crookshanks and was glad to have the chance to give him a bit of screen time._


	23. Revelations

**Revelations**

Their meal was a quiet affair. Snape seemed preoccupied and less than willing to engage in small talk. Or any talk at all, for that matter. Ever since he had got out of bed he had been strangely distanced towards Hermione, which made her feel even more self-conscious. He was probably wondering how much he had talked under the influence of the potion, wondering how much she knew. But she could hardly tell him, could she? A few times she caught him staring at her with a rather penetrating glance, looking away as soon as she met his eyes. For a second she wondered if he'd use legilimency on her to find out what she had heard. But somehow she didn't really believe that he'd really do that.

Nevertheless, it was quite obvious that he didn't feel comfortable with her around his house, and Hermione was wondering if it was because he didn't want her there at all, or if he was worried for her safety. It was probably both.

They had hardly finished their meal when Rose, who was positively beaming with happiness to see her master well again, came to announce Madam Pomfrey. Hermione said a quick hello and then left the room, leaving Snape and the elder woman staring at each other in a rather tense atmosphere.

"Let me check you first," Poppy finally broke the uncomfortable silence in a businesslike voice. After casting several spells she nodded. "You seem well recovered, if a bit weak." She paused. "You were lucky. Whoever did this didn't want to kill you, but if you hadn't taken the bezoar and if Hermione and Albus hadn't fetched me, this would have been far more unpleasant."

"I know," Snape said dispassionately.

Poppy looked very serious, her face betraying the battle of emotions that was going on inside her. "Merlin, Severus. I can understand why you didn't tell us that you were still on our side. But why ever did you vanish when all was over? We all thought you were dead!"

"You see what happens when people find out I'm still alive," Snape retorted.

Poppy shook her head. "You could have told us. You know we would have kept it secret. Minerva felt so bad about the way we treated you. We all did."

Snape experienced a sudden twinge of regret under her accusatory look. But he shook his head nevertheless. "I am sorry, but I needed to get away." _For the first time in my life I was truly free, with no obligations to anyone. I couldn't give that up_, he thought but didn't say.

The elder witch stared at him in silence, then shrugged her shoulders. "It's your decision. I haven't told anyone that you are still alive, and if you insist I won't."

Snape nodded. "Thank you. I will tell them, eventually, but please leave the choice of time and place to me."

"So you enjoy your solitude?" she asked, a bit defiantly.

"Life without those dunderheads of students and without constantly risking my life? Let me think, yes, I enjoy it."

"Then why is Miss Granger here?"

Snape's mouth twitched in a sardonic smile. "What do you mean? I thought you asked her to stay and look after me."

The elder witch gave him a penetrating stare. "That's not what I mean."

Snape shrugged his shoulders. "I met her by coincidence a few years ago, and somehow we've stayed in touch. She helps me with my work."

Poppy raised an eyebrow. "I never knew that you thought so much of her while she was still your pupil."

Snape felt slightly irritated. "She was a terrible know-it-all. But she has reformed. And she is very intelligent, I can't deny that."

"And so while everyone thought that you were dead you developed a friendship with one of your former least-favourite pupils?" She still looked at him searchingly.

"I have no idea what you're getting at," Snape retorted in a clipped tone.

"You really don't, do you?" the elder woman said, her voice suddenly soft. "I just want you to be careful, Severus. Miss Granger obviously cares about you. Please try not to hurt her, she has suffered enough."

Snape snorted, feeling rather irritated. "This is ridiculous, I certainly have no intention of hurting her in any way. I know what she's been through."

"I don't think you do," Poppy stated quietly. "Did you know she didn't speak for nearly three weeks after Potter and Weasley had been killed?"

Snape was silent. "No, I didn't," he finally conceded.

"It was as if she were in another world," the elder witch went on. "She just sat there, staring in front of her, without giving any indication that she noticed what was going on around her. Minerva was sick with worry, the more so because we couldn't contact her parents. Did you know that she had modified their memories and sent them away to Australia to keep them out of harms way? She had even erased their memories about her."

"So that's what she did," Snape said slowly. Voldemort had been furious when he couldn't find the Grangers. He had thought at that time that the Order must keep them somewhere safe. But what Hermione had done was much safer – and much more drastic. It must have given her a lot of pain, but it showed a dedication and foresight that Snape had to admire.

"I don't know what finally made her come back," Poppy went on, "but when she did she had changed. She hardly spoke to anyone, apart from Miss Weasley who had suffered perhaps even more, and to Miss Lovegood and Mr Longbottom. She started studying again, with a greater obsession than she had before. When she did her N.E.W.T.s she achieved the highest marks that anyone had managed since Dumbledore. She could have chosen any career she'd liked. But the day of her graduation she packed her things and left Hogwarts and the wizarding world forever. That's why I want you to be careful with her, Severus."

Snape faced her searching glance. "I still don't know what you're worried about, Poppy," he said, "but I can assure you that I certainly don't have any intentions of doing any harm to Miss Granger."

After a few moments Poppy nodded. "Very well. Now, you seem alright to me, but you should certainly rest for the next few days."

Snape snorted and she sighed in exasperation. "You surely haven't become an easier patient, Severus." A mischievous look crossed her face. "I'll tell Miss Granger to take care that you don't exhaust yourself. Perhaps you'll listen to her."

**…**

While Madam Pomfrey was examining Snape, Hermione decided to talk to Dumbledore. She had some ideas how to find out who poisoned Snape and wanted to discuss them with him. But when Hermione went to Snape's study, she found that Dumbledore wasn't in his portrait.

She stood in the doorframe, hesitating. She could have gone to the laboratory, but there was really nothing for her to do there and Snape's study, lined as it was with shelves full of books, was much too intriguing. So Hermione entered and spent several minutes simply looking up and down the shelves, unable to decide which book to pick first and not quite sure if that would be okay for her. Then her eyes came to rest upon a row of seven books on the lowest shelf in a corner of the room. Hermione frowned. She knew this dark red leather binding. And when she took out the first volume her suspicion was proven right. It was a Hogwarts year book.

The year was 1971/72, Snape's and Harry's parents' first year at Hogwarts. Hermione was surprised. From all she could gather she wouldn't have thought that Snape's time at school had been so positive as to make him keep the yearbooks within easy reach. She sat down on the floor next to the shelf, took up the book, and it immediately opened to a page showing some first year Gryffindors, among them Harry's mother Lily Evans. The picture was moving and it was rather disconcerting to see the young girl, whose eyes were so much like Harry's, smiling at her a bit shyly. Hermione started to leaf through the book until she came to the page with Snape's picture. He looked so…young. Thin and a bit scruffy. But the large nose and dark eyes were unmistakable. As was the scowl.

Hermione stared down on the page, and then leafed through the volume again. It was strange; the whole book, including the page with Snape's own picture, looked as if it had never been opened or read before. Apart from the one page with the Gryffindor first years. And Lily Evans.

She took out the next book and found the same there. The volume opened easily onto a page which had a picture of a slightly older Lily on it, but the rest seemed as if they'd never been looked upon. Frowning, Hermione took out the next year book, and the next, right up until the last one. The situation was the same with all of them only that, in later volumes, when Lily appeared in other pictures, those too had evidently been looked at.

She stared down on the last photograph of Lily, now looking nearly like the woman Hermione knew from Harry's pictures. Her thoughts were whirling and an idea had formed in her mind, an idea so impossible Hermione could hardly believe it, and yet all the evidence pointed to it.

"So you found out."

Her head jerked up. Snape was standing in the doorframe, looking down on her from across the room.

Hermione scrambled up, feeling caught, her mind spinning. "I… I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't want to pry, I just saw these, and I started to leaf through them, and I…"

"And you couldn't fail to notice. Of course you couldn't." His voice was strangely hoarse and he was staring at her with his dark eyes, holding her gaze.

"Harry's mum…Lily…it was all because of her?" Hermione whispered, her mouth finally saying what her jumbled mind still wouldn't admit.

For a second Snape's face showed such intense sadness that Hermione could hardly look at him. "Lily..." his voice seemed transformed as he said the name, warm and gentle and very sad. "Yes, it was because of her."

He still held her eyes, his expression unreadable. But Hermione couldn't stay any longer, she had to get out, away from him, to quiet the turmoil in her head.

"I'm sorry," she said, tearing her eyes away from him and crossing the room, "I…I think I better go now."

Snape stepped away from the doorframe and Hermione left the room, hardly seeing were she went as she hurried through the house. Her feet took her to the room that Rose had given to her and she sank down onto the bed, staring blankly ahead, her head still spinning.

Snape had been in love with Lily Potter.

It seemed impossible, preposterous. But what other explanation was there for the yearbooks? And he had as much as admitted it. It would explain so many other things… What he had said under the influence of the Memorate Potion… His hatred of Harry's father and Harry, who looked just like James… And why he had protected Harry nevertheless… And it must somehow be wound up with the fact that Dumbledore had always trusted him. It even explained why in their third year he had been so eager to give Sirius to the Dementors – after all he had been convinced that Sirius had betrayed Lily…

Snape in love with Harry's mother… Good lord, what a face Harry would have put on!

Laughter broke out of Hermione as she pictured Harry's and Ron's reaction. Laughter she couldn't stop and which turned increasingly hysterical.

Snape loved Lily. He loved her so much he had risked his life for her long after she had died. Suddenly Hermione realized that her laughter had turned into sobs. She quickly put her hand across her mouth, stifling her crying, staring in front of her with eyes that were suddenly filled with tears. There was an odd ache in her chest. What was going on with her? Why should she be acting so strangely? And then realization hit her, cutting through the muddle in her mind, forcing her to face it at last, a thought as unbelievable as the one about Lily, but just as true. She loved Snape. She didn't know when or how it had happened, but she was in love with him. And she knew just as well that it was a hopeless love. For how could she ever compete with Lily Evans?

* * *

_I finally found a Beta Reader! So if my English is much improved now __that's completely due to the fabulous __C.E. Belvedier. All errors remain, of course, my own._


	24. Lily

**Lily**

Snape felt a strange mixture of relief and pain when Hermione had stormed out of his study. So she had finally found out about Lily. It had only been a question of time, really.

He went over to where Hermione had left the last yearbook lying on the floor and put it back on the shelf. He had known that she had realized it the moment he saw her sitting on the floor, pouring over the book. She was much too intelligent not to figure it out.

Perhaps he had said something about Lily under the influence of the potion? But no, Hermione had seemed genuinely surprised, shocked even. And that was no wonder; the thought of there being any connection between Lily and him must be disturbing.

But why did he feel this strange ache? Probably because he'd have to talk to Hermione now and explain everything. That would be it, yes. He was only glad that Dumbledore hadn't been a witness to the scene. Perhaps he should go and talk to her right away? She must be rather confused, although, come to think about it, her emotional reaction had surprised him a little.

He didn't really know where to look for Hermione, but her room seemed like a logical starting point. And when he arrived at the door, he heard noises which indicated that she was inside.

Snape furrowed his brow. It sounded as if she were laughing. How strange. He had expected all kinds of reactions, but laughter hadn't been high on his list. He carefully stepped closer to check if he had heard right. Now the noises coming from her room sounded like sobs. But surely that was even less likely than laughter. Why should she be crying?

Suddenly the noises stopped. Snape felt rather odd, standing outside her room, trying to pick up what was going on inside. If she was crying shouldn't he go in and comfort her? The odd pain he had felt earlier was back again.

But probably it'd be best to just leave her alone. Snape took a silent step back from the door. Yes, give her time to come to terms with what she had found out. And then answer her questions. That seemed like a good idea. And so Snape turned and went back to his study, trying to ignore the strange ache in his chest.

&&&&&

It was nearly an hour later when Hermione left her room to find Snape. She couldn't keep away too long, couldn't risk that her behaviour seem strange to him and that he start suspecting what was behind it. He mustn't know that she had any feelings for him or it would ruin the tentative friendship they had built up during the last years.

She found him sitting on a bench in front of the house, reading. To Hermione's surprise, Crookshanks was curled up next to him.

Hermione hesitated in the doorframe, but Snape, who had obviously heard her, turned towards her, put away his book and looked at her expectantly.

"I came to apologize," Hermione said nervously, fervently hoping that her face didn't betray the pain she was still feeling and the unexpected tenderness that had washed over her when she had seen him sitting there with the cat. "It was an accident. I never wanted to pry into your past."

Snape's face looked guarded, but there was no anger in it as Hermione waited anxiously for his reply.

"You don't have to apologize," he said after a few moments. "It was really only a matter of time until you would have found it out. I should have told you. Please, sit down."

Hermione sat down on his left side. She was grateful that Crookshanks was lying between them so she could stroke him and look down on him and didn't have to meet Snape's eyes.

"I suppose now a lot of things suddenly make sense to you," he said in a slightly sardonic tone.

"Yes, they do." Hermione looked up but kept on stroking Crookshanks, whose deep purring was somewhat soothing. "That's why Dumbledore always trusted you, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Hermione hesitated. "And that's why you protected Harry – and yet hated him so much. Because he wasn't your son."

Something flared up in Snape's eyes and he drew in his breath, but he stifled whatever reply had come to his lips. His face was very tense. Hermione held his gaze and they stared at each other for several moments. "Perhaps," he finally said.

Now it was his turn to look down on the cat and to start scratching him behind the ears. Crookshanks closed his eyes in ecstasy and his purring increased even more. A quick smile flitted across Snape's face but was gone immediately. Silence descended.

"I met Lily when we were children," Snape eventually said, still looking down on the cat. "I lived close by, and I had noticed her, even though she certainly never noticed me. I had seen that she had the same powers that I had even though her parents were muggles. She was…a sweet girl, beautiful and friendly, and I thought that perhaps we could become friends. And surprisingly enough we did. I told you that my childhood wasn't happy, but Lily…" He paused for a while, and then went on. "Her friendship meant a lot to me. She meant a lot to me. I told her about Hogwarts and when she finally got the letter she was very happy. But probably not as happy as I was."

He paused again. "The problems started when Lily was sorted into Gryffindor, of course. But she still kept up the contact, in spite of what everyone told her about Slytherins in general and me in particular. She was a very good friend. Later I…developed feelings for her..." His voice was strangely matter of fact but he still didn't look at Hermione and she was grateful for that. "Perhaps I had had them right from the beginning, I don't know. And of course I noticed that there were other boys, especially in Gryffindor, who would have been happy to be her boyfriend. I was very stupid then," he said with a bitter smile, "I was afraid that I couldn't offer her enough. I was nobody, neither rich, powerful nor popular or handsome… I was the sour freak and no one could understand why she was still talking to me…"

Hermione felt a wave of sadness and tenderness. She wanted to reach out to comfort him, but knew that she couldn't do it.

"I was afraid of losing her," Snape went on, still staring down on the cat, "and finally in my fifth year I thought I had found a way to impress her, to show her that I was as good as Potter who was sneaking around her like a cat around cream. Because suddenly some of the most popular and powerful elder Slytherins were taking an interest in me. How stupid I was… Lily, of course, recognized them for what they were. She was not impressed, on the contrary, she loathed that I was spending more and more time with them. But for me their acquaintance seemed like a great chance. I was flattered that they were interested in me although I was a half-blood. My relationship with Lily deteriorated, until finally I said something I couldn't take back. I called her a Mudblood, and for her that was the end of our friendship. I tried to apologize but she wouldn't forgive me. After that I became more and more entangled with Voldemort's pupils. And she got together with Potter."

Snape paused, his hand resting on Crookshanks' back. Suddenly he looked up and met Hermione's eyes. His face was very white. "I didn't see her again after we graduated," he went on in a strangely flat voice. "I joined ranks with Voldemort and tried to prove my worth to him, to finally get into a position of power. But it was hard. I couldn't offer him anything, neither wealth, nor connections or power. Only myself. And that I did. By chance I learned that Dumbledore would interview Trelawney for a teaching post, and I thought that perhaps some kind of information could be gathered…"

He drew in his breath harshly, his eyes wide and intensely dark. "Thus it came that I heard the prophecy. How proud I was to have something so valuable to give to my lord!" His bitter laugh chilled Hermione. "It was only later that I found out what people Voldemort thought the prophecy was about. I had delivered Lily to him."

Snape stopped. His eyes were boring into hers, but it was as if he didn't see her. The desperation and pain in them made Hermione ache inside and all she felt was horror and coldness.

"I pleaded for her," he whispered. "And when that didn't help I went to Dumbledore. I promised him everything he wanted, just as long as he kept Lily safe. But then Pettigrew betrayed them and she died. I only hope she never knew that it was I who told Voldemort the prophecy. But I've never dared to ask Dumbledore."

Snape fell silent. "I am so sorry," Hermione whispered. She felt cold and shocked and very sad.

He looked at her with a curious expression in his eyes, then slowly his faraway look vanished. "You are crying," he said with a hint of surprise, and she noticed that, indeed she was. "You shouldn't cry for me, I don't merit it."

Hermione shrank from the self-loathing in his voice, and suddenly became aware that both of them had stopped stroking Crookshanks and that her hand was lying over his. Like her, Snape looked down at their hands, quickly took his away and turned to look out into the garden.

Hermione felt a sudden stab of pain at this. Her need to comfort him was overwhelming, but she knew that she had to be careful or Snape would recoil from her. "Lily would be proud of you," she finally said.

Snape's head jerked towards her, a mixture of pain and anger in his eyes. "How can you say that," he hissed. "Not only did I betray her, I couldn't even save her son – nor your lover."

Hermione winced and for a second there was a spark of triumph in his eyes, pleasure that he had hurt her. But it vanished immediately and only sadness remained. "I am sorry," he said in a low voice. "You needn't try to make me feel better. There is nothing you can say that will lessen my guilt."

Hermione felt new tears building up behind her eyes, but forced them back. _You have lived with your guilt so long now, it's all that you have, isn't it? It's what you are, what made you go on living. Oh Severus._ "You saved me," she stated quietly. "Without you I'd be dead."

There was a strange light in his eyes. "Yes," he replied slowly. "And I am glad I did."

Their eyes locked and after what seemed like a long time it was Snape who looked away first. "I think we ought to check on the potion," he said in his normal, dispassionate voice, got up and went into the house.

&&&&&

_Thanks for your reviews! And a special thanks to my great Beta Reader C.E. Belvedier._


	25. The potion

**The potion**

In the laboratory Snape checked the potion at great length, paying hardly any heed to Hermione. When he addressed her his face was impassive and his behaviour distanced, making Hermione wonder if he regretted telling her about Lily. After a few minutes she retreated into a corner where she could do some work without disturbing Snape, trying to come to terms with what she had just learned. She still felt shaken by his revelations and the emotions they had evoked in her.

Finally Snape declared that, as far as he could tell, the potion was doing fine. "Tomorrow we'll know if it's working," he said, leafing through his notes. "From tonight at half past 9 onwards it'll be sufficient to add the ingredients only every 6 and 9 hours, respectively."

"I'm glad to hear it," Hermione replied, stifling a yawn.

Snape turned around and gave her a scrutinizing look. "I'll see to it. I'm sure you haven't got much sleep in the last few days."

Hermione shook her head violently. "No, I'm alright. You however have to sleep. And don't contradict me, Madame Pomfrey told me expressly that I had to take care you rested."

For the first time there was some movement in his dispassionate face. "Or else you'll foist a sleeping potion on me again?"

Hermione smiled mischievously. "If I have to, yes."

Snape snorted. "How long are you intending to stay anyway?"

"It depends on how you're feeling tomorrow," Hermione replied. "Madame Pomfrey said she'd come and look after you tomorrow in the evening. If she thinks you're fine I'll leave afterwards."

"You should leave as soon as possible."

Hermione felt a sudden stab of pain. She hadn't expected him to chuck her out like this.

"It isn't safe for you here," Snape added in a level tone. "And you've already done more than enough for me."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Don't worry, I don't mind." She hesitated a few moments, then added, "That's what friends are for."

He looked at her, his face guarded. "Very well then. But you'll leave tomorrow." He turned without another word and left the laboratory.

Hermione stared after him for a second, her mind in turmoil. What was she to make of his behaviour towards her? How was she to react to it? _I'd never have thought that a man could be so complicated!_ She thought. Finally she shrugged her shoulders and made to follow Snape to the dining room. She'd just have to go along and see what happened.

Rose was already waiting with dinner. While Hermione was carving through a delicious piece of salmon, Snape suddenly said, "You used magic."

She looked up in surprise and found him regarding her with that indefinable look of his.

"Yes, I did. I'm sorry I had to use your wand."

He made a throwaway gesture with his hand. "That doesn't matter." He was still looking at her and Hermione realized that he expected a longer answer.

"I didn't want to, obviously," she went on. "But I had to check your status, and the best way I could do that was by using magic."

"I see. Well, I'm glad you made an exception for me."

They went on eating in silence for a few minutes, then Hermione looked up again and said, "It was strange. After all I hadn't done any magic – at least not deliberately – for over five years. But it was as if no time had passed at all. I just did it, and it felt right."

Snape was looking at her attentively. "So what are you going to do now? Will you take up magic again?"

"I honestly don't know. It seemed so far away the last few years. Like a strange story or a dream, not the real world. But when I performed those spells it just felt natural. It is a part of me and I don't know if I'm right in shutting it away. But where would that leave me? I'm part of the muggle world now, and I like it. I don't think I want to return to the wizarding world. Just not now. There would be too many demands, and expectations, and memories…"

They stared at each other until Hermione broke the eye contact, took up her knife and fork again and went on to eat her fish. They had been eating in silence for a few minutes, when she suddenly asked, "You never wanted to leave all this behind?"

"You mean magic?"

She nodded.

"No." Snape considered for a few seconds. "You mean because I of all people should know about its dark sides?"

Hermione nodded reluctantly.

"No. The muggle world never had any lure for me. But I can certainly understand your wish to get away from the demands of the wizarding world." He gave her a searching look. "Do you wish that you had been a normal child? With a normal childhood? It would be understandable. Battling a dark wizard is not what children should be forced to do."

"I did for a while," Hermione replied. "After Harry and Ron died. But I was happy as a child, in spite of Voldemort." She smiled wistfully. "I was proud of my abilities, happy with my friends. No, I wouldn't want to change my childhood."

"I see."

"How about you?" Hermione asked. The second the words left her lips she realized that this had probably been a very bad idea.

Snape's face went blank for a moment. "You watched over me the last days," he finally said in a dispassionate voice. "What do you think?"

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him, about his past, about Lily. But she knew that she never could.

**…**

Eventually Hermione made Snape go to bed in spite of much protest. She was very tired, but even without the need to get up and take care of the potion every few hours she wouldn't have found much sleep. Too much had happened that day.

_What now, Hermione?_ She thought as she lay in her bed, waiting for the hours to tick by. _What now?_ Unrequited love might be romantic in a novel, but in real life it just hurt. She thought back to her sixth year and how she had felt when Ron had been snogging Lavender all over Hogwarts. Hermione grimaced. She wasn't keen on experiencing those emotions again.

But did she have a choice? Should she try to keep away from Snape, to end their…friendship? If she could even call their strange and tentative relationship friendship. Would that help? Wasn't the odd bond they had formed better than nothing? The thought of never seeing him again, even if now she met him only on rare occasions and in the context of work, hurt. She didn't want him out of her life.

How could this have happened? When had her tentative admiration for him turned into something she was afraid to look at too closely? How could she have got into this mess?

In the early hours of the morning Hermione finally fell into troubled sleep, but woke up again shortly after 9 o'clock. When she went to the laboratory, she found Snape already pouring over a sheaf of parchments.

He looked up when she entered and Hermione was surprised at the look on his face. With everyone else she'd have said that he was beaming with pleasure. There was no doubt that he was very pleased.

"It worked?" she asked excitedly.

Snape nodded. His eyes were sparkling, not with fury as Hermione knew them from her schooldays, but with genuine delight.

"It's too early to be definite," he said, "but the results certainly look promising. Look at that," and he pointed to a magical microscope nearby.

Hermione bent over the microscope. "That's a human cell," she stated.

"Exactly. It looks absolutely normal, doesn't it?"

"It does. As far as I can tell."

"Well, it didn't twenty minutes ago," Snape went on with a note of triumph in his voice. "It's a werewolf's. I added a drop of the potion and as you can see the cell regenerated back to its original form."

Hermione looked up from the microscope, her face shining with enthusiasm. "This is brilliant Severus. You've done it!"

Suddenly there was a small genuine smile on his face, a smile which transformed his features and made him look ten years younger. "With some help from you. Actually I used some of the suggestions you made for the potion that exploded."

Hermione felt a warm feeling erupt in her chest. "I'm happy it wasn't all for nothing," she said, beaming at him.

He looked at her intently, his face still lit with pleasure and his dark eyes sparkling. Hermione felt her heartbeat rise and her cheeks go red and looked away quickly, angry with herself that Snape should have such an effect on her and worried lest he noticed something. "So what are we doing now?" she asked in a businesslike voice.

When she met Snape's gaze again he still looked content but the sparkle had gone from his eyes. "We'll have to wait and see if the effect lasts," he stated. "It's quite possible that it doesn't. But even if that should be the case, this potion might be used to prevent a werewolf from transforming. I also want to set up further batches of the potion with slightly different measurement of the ingredients." He nodded towards the parchments lying on a table nearby. "When you came in I was documenting the potion's effects on cells taken from different werewolves – young, old, male, female etc."

"So what can I do?"

Snape gave her a doubtful look. "You must be very tired. You really should rest."

"Certainly not!" Hermione grinned. "You can't think in earnest I'd miss this historic moment. Of course I'll help you."

Again Snape shot her a strange look, then said, "Very well. You can set up the new batches of potion. Over there you find the instructions."

They worked with great concentration for several hours. Snape felt better than he had for a long time, elated by the success of years of hard work.

It was strange but being able to share it with Hermione had made it even better. The day before, after he had told her about Lily, he had felt very uncomfortable around her. He wasn't sorry that he had told her everything, it had been necessary. But it had been disconcerting to reveal his past to her in that way. To reveal himself. He still felt rather self-conscious when he thought about it, but this emotion was now muted by their shared enthusiasm for the progress with the potion. Hermione had a passion for learning he had hardly ever met before. And he had told her the truth. Without her help, her suggestions and questions he'd not be that far today.

Usually he didn't like to work with others in a laboratory. They never showed the concentration, exactness and dedication that to him were of prime importance. But when he watched her preparing the new batches he saw that she worked with just as much care as he did. He had known that, of course. She'd been like that at school, hadn't she? But somehow he had never appreciated it then. He had to admit that it was surprisingly nice to have her in the laboratory. Here was someone to share his thoughts with, which was certainly more productive than talking to himself.

But she'd leave in the evening. It was highly unlikely that Poppy would think him not well enough. And anyway, he had come to the conclusion that it was dangerous for her to be around him, hadn't he?

But then what? If he was right, there soon wouldn't be much work left with the potion. No reason left to meet once per month. Perhaps no reason even to keep on writing letters. He'd see her once a year at Stratford, if even that. Perhaps she would be glad. After all, helping him had meant lots of extra work for her. Why should she want to spend time with him now they had reached their goal? And why was he troubled by that thought?

More than once over the hours they worked together Snape caught himself pondering these thoughts. His lack of concentration was despicable. A result of the stress he'd been through over the last days, no doubt.

He also caught himself looking at her from time to time. Luckily Hermione was so engrossed in her work she never noticed it. Once he observed her stifling a yawn and then stretching her arms wide over her head.

_Like a cat_, Snape thought, caught by the unconscious, graceful movement. He turned his gaze away immediately. This was no time to stare at her. Actually there was no time to do this, ever.

**…**

They stopped working for lunch. Afterwards Hermione went straight back to the laboratory while Snape made for his study to fetch some notes and to tell Dumbledore about their progress.

He was rummaging in a large drawer when a soft hooting made him look up. It was his owl Alcuin who came flying through one of the open windows, landed on the desk and held out his leg to which a letter had been tied.

Snape untied it and read the short text. His brow furrowed and when he gave a treat to the owl, his face was wearing a faraway expression. Alcuin hooted again and then flew out of the window, but Snape hardly noticed. He stared down on the letter, deeply troubled.

"What's the matter, Severus?"

His head jerked up. Dumbledore was looking at him.

"You know I sent a letter to my wine merchant," Snape replied. "To ask about the poisoned bottle. This is their reply. They write that not only did they not send me the box of wine which included the poisoned bottle, but they never even received my order for it in the first place."

Dumbledore looked worried. "That means whoever poisoned you must have intercepted your order and sent the bottles himself."

"Exactly. He – or she – knows where I live."

Dumbledore gave him a long, searching look with those startling blue eyes. "So what are you going to do now?" he asked.

Snape shrugged his shoulders. "There's no use in running away. I need to know who did this to me, and so I'll have to wait until he or she acts again. I only hope it'll be soon." He paused, then went on in a tense voice, "But Hermione shouldn't be here. I can't guarantee for her safety. She should never have come here."

"There was no other way," Dumbledore said softly.

Snape shook his head in irritation. "I know. But it was unfortunate, very unfortunate. Whoever poisoned me might be watching this house right now. If he knows she's here, she is in danger. He probably has been watching me for ages. Damn, Dumbledore, if he's seen her around me, Hermione is in danger in any case. She should never have been associated with me, never."

"It's not your fault, Severus."

Snape snorted. "I know, but that doesn't help, does it? I can't risk her being harmed. Moreover, I can't risk that she's used to harm me."

"She's leaving tonight anyway, isn't she?" Dumbledore said in a soothing tone. "And we checked the wards, they are all in place. She's probably safer here than anywhere else."

Snape stared at him, feeling deeply troubled. Finally he nodded reluctantly. "Alright, but I don't like this, I don't like it at all. And she's definitely leaving as soon as Poppy declares me fit." A sudden thought entered his head and he called his house-elf. "Rose, check the whole house and all my belongings for any strange magic you can find."

Rose nodded and vanished.

"You think there might be more?" Dumbledore asked.

"I don't know. I'm just making sure."

The elder wizard nodded. "Hermione will be alright, Severus."

Snape met Dumbledore's bright eyes. "I hope you're right," he replied before he turned and went to the laboratory.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed it. My special thanks go to my Beta __C.E. Belvedier for her corrections and suggestions._


	26. Hostages to fortune

**Hostages to fortune**

Snape didn't mention the letter when he returned to Hermione. He knew that she wouldn't agree with his worries concerning her person and he had no inclination to argue with her about her stupid, stubborn, dangerous Gryffindor bravery.

"Let's finish for today," Snape eventually said shortly before 4 pm, putting away his notes. "There's nothing else we can do at present, and I think I could use a bit of fresh air."

"Alright," Hermione replied. She started to fumble with the straps of a protective apron she had put on when she had been wrestling with a rather large and lively acidic root. Some strands of her hair had got entangled with the strap around her neck, and she had a hard time disentangling them without pulling out her hair.

"Let me help you," she suddenly heard Snape's voice beside her.

"Thanks," she said, giving him a smile and bowing her head so he could work better. She felt him push away her heavy hair, felt his cool fingers fleetingly touch the skin of her neck, and suddenly a strange shiver was running down her spine. _Get yourself together_, Hermione scolded herself, very glad that Snape couldn't see her face.

"Here you go," he said after a few moments.

Hermione turned around to face him. There was an odd expression in his face, but it vanished immediately.

"Thanks," she said.

He nodded.

A sudden thought made her go on. "I mean, thanks for everything. For letting me help you, for letting me be part of this. It means a lot to me."

His eyes widened for a moment, but then he just gave a curt nod. "You were very persuasive. And I couldn't waste such intelligence."

Hermione beamed at him, surprised at this unexpected compliment. "Thank you. I hope I wasn't too pushy and annoying."

A wry smile tugged at his lips. "No, not any longer." He scrutinized her for a few seconds in silence, and suddenly Hermione realized how close they were standing. "I've been wondering," he at last went on, his eyes never leaving hers, "that second year in Stratford… It wasn't coincidence that you were there, was it?"

Hermione felt a bit embarrassed but met his gaze unflinchingly. "No. You had told me that you went every year, and that you had seen _Richard III_ the year before. I looked it up on the RSC's website and saw that it had been staged on the same weekend. It was an educated guess."

"Muggle technology, I see," he said slowly. There was a strange intense expression on his face. He fell silent, but still looked at her as if there was something he wanted to say. "But why did you do it?" he asked abruptly.

Hermione took a few seconds to answer. She felt rather self-conscious but refused to reveal her embarrassment to his searching eyes. "I wanted to see you again," she eventually admitted calmly. "I…I don't really know why, but talking to you had somehow helped me come to terms with Ron's and Harry's death. You had been there when they had died, and for some strange reason I had the feeling that you understood me better than anyone else. I didn't really know what I expected or hoped for, but I just felt that I wanted to see you again." She gave him a shy smile. "And I am glad I did."

The odd expression was back on his face, and for a second Hermione thought she saw pain in his eyes. But that couldn't be right, could it?

"Are you?" he asked quietly.

"Of course," she replied, her throat suddenly very dry. Snape's dark gaze was holding hers with a strange intensity and there was a peculiar, tense silence hanging between them. It felt as if there was nothing else in the world but those black eyes and his sharply contoured face which still wore that curious expression. From the corner of her eye Hermione saw his right hand come up and a part of her was wondering what he was doing, but then suddenly a bird screeched outside, breaking the odd stillness. Snape blinked and took a step backwards. His face was dispassionate again.

"As I said, we are finished for today," he stated quickly and turned towards his notes. "I'll just take these to my study. I'll see you later."

And with this he grabbed a stack of parchments and hurried out of the laboratory, leaving Hermione with her heart hammering wildly, wondering what had just happened.

**…**

When Snape arrived in his study he put the parchments on the desk. But instead of leaving again he remained standing there, staring down on his notes, his thoughts racing.

What had just happened? _Nothing_, a soothing voice in his head said. _Don't overreact, nothing happened_. No, but it very nearly had. Merlin, he had been close to reaching out for her, close to touching her. He shouldn't have offered to help her with that damned apron. What had he been thinking?

Her hair had been very soft.

_Stop it! This is pathetic, pathetic and disgusting, taking advantage of her like that._

But what she had said… He had suspected it for a long time, but hearing Hermione confess that she had sought him out on purpose was something different. That she was glad to have met him. How strange…

_Stop it!_

This was getting out of hand. After what had happened at Stratford he had decided not to indulge in any too familiar thoughts about Hermione Granger. It would lead to nothing, only distract him from his work and endanger their professional relationship. But then he had been poisoned and she had entered his house. These past days had been far too strenuous in more than one way. His getting poisoned. Her finding out about Lily. Their success with the potion. The danger in which he might or might not have placed her. His undeniable attraction… Luckily she'd be gone this evening. Yes, with her out of his house he'd be able to think straight again.

Snape was about to leave his study when Rose appeared with a sudden crack, holding a black shirt. She was wearing gloves.

"Master, something is not right with this shirt," she said worriedly, placing it onto his desk carefully.

Snape looked down on the shirt, which was one of his favourites, drew his wand and performed a few spells. Suddenly it started to glow in a sickly green shade. Snape drew in his breath. He felt ill.

"Was that all you found?"

Rose nodded.

"You may go now," he said, and the elf disapparated. Snape kept staring at his shirt, his chest tight with fear. He hadn't had this terrible choking feeling for many years, and he had hoped that he'd never have to have it again. But he should have known better. It had been stupid to feel safe, stupid to think he could have anything like a normal life.

"What's going on here?" Snape turned around and found that Dumbledore had entered his portrait.

"Rose found this shirt," he explained. "It has been tempered with. Someone put the Plague Charm on it."

Dumbledore's face grew stony. "It could have killed you."

"Or at least it would have made me very ill," Snape replied in a dispassionate voice. But his emotions were far from dispassionate. He felt helpless fury and frustration. And fear.

He looked at Dumbledore very earnestly. "Whoever did this had access to this house," he stated. "I don't know how he got past the wards, but this is an old shirt, I use it regularly and there is no way he could have tampered with it outside of the wards." Snape paused. "I don't think he wants to kill me, though," he went on slowly. "If he wanted to, he could have done it with the Memorate Potion. Or afterwards, if he can enter my house just like that. No, I think he's playing with me, showing me his power. This is a warning, a demonstration that I am completely in his power and can't do anything against it."

Dumbledore nodded, looking very worried. "I'm afraid this seems to be the case."

"Damn, Dumbledore," Snape went on, his voice tense with frustration. He started pacing up and down in front of the portrait. "How could my enemy do this? How could he get through my wards?" Snape tried to think straight, tried to push the fear and anger away. This was no time to get emotional, he had to keep his mind if he wanted to survive this.

Suddenly he stopped his pacing. "I have to get Hermione out of here," Snape stated in a flat tone. "It's no longer safe for her, perhaps it never was. She should never have come here, should never have come near me in the first place."

Dumbledore looked at him with pity in his eyes. "So what do you want to do?"

"She has to leave immediately," Snape replied. "And I'll have to make sure that she doesn't return. That she isn't seen with me again. At least not until I know who is after me, and until I have caught him."

Dumbledore shook his head. "That won't be easy. She regards you as her friend, and that means that she won't desert you when you are in danger."

Snape gave a mirthless laughter. "I know. Damn Gryffindor loyalty and bravery. Why can't she be reasonable?"

Dumbledore didn't answer, just looked at Snape with those knowing eyes. Snape couldn't take the sympathy in them and looked away.

"Don't do it, Severus," Dumbledore suddenly said quietly.

Snape looked back at him. "Do what?"

"Make her leave without telling her why. Push her away so you can be sure she'll never return. I know you, Severus. That's what you intend to do, isn't it?"

"You said yourself that she won't cooperate if I tell her the truth," Snape replied defiantly. "This is the only way, and you know it."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Severus, you are making a mistake."

"Do you think I want to do this?" Snape asked, his voice full of suppressed emotions. "That I want to hurt her? I certainly don't. But you've seen what my enemy is capable of. He could kill her in this very house right now, just for sport! So if it's a choice between keeping her away from me, and her being harmed by whoever is after me, I'll gladly do it. I can't risk her being in danger for my sake."

Dumbledore just looked at him. Snape met his gaze for a few seconds, and then turned to leave. He had nearly reached the door when Dumbledore spoke again.

"You love her, don't you?"

Snape stopped in his tracks but didn't turn around. "This is ridiculous," he said with a short laugh. "I just don't want her to get hurt."

"Whatever you say, Severus, you should be sure about your feelings for her before you push her away," Dumbledore stated quietly. "She might never come back."

Snape turned to face him, his throat suddenly very dry. "My feelings for Hermione are of no concern here," he said, his eyes boring into Dumbledore's. "The only thing that matters is that she's safe. For her own sake and for mine."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his face very sad. Before he could say another word, Snape turned around and left.

* * *

_Hope you liked it. The title is from a quote by Francis Bacon (1561–1626) which is "He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune."_

_As always special thanks go to __C.E. Belvedier for being such a conscientious and fast Beta._


	27. The only way

**The only way**

When Snape had left his study he didn't go to Hermione straight away but stopped after a few metres at a window which looked out over the garden. His breath was ragged and he had to get himself together before he could face her.

Snape shook his head in irritation. He knew that he was right, no matter what Dumbledore was saying. He had to keep her safe, had to make sure that she couldn't be used to harm him. If his enemy was watching them, Snape had to make him believe that Hermione didn't matter to him, that there was no reason to hurt her. Snape didn't know if this would work, but he had to do his best. There simply was no other way.

But there was an annoying voice in his mind, asking if this was really the right thing to do. _You're frightened by the effect she has on you_, it whispered. _Are you sure you don't push her away because of that?_ _You will hurt her. She trusts you, treats you like a friend. And that's how you want to repay her? You've given her enough pain when she was your student, how can you even think of doing this to her?_ Snape clenched his fists, staring out of the window into the bright autumn afternoon. _You will lose her, _the voice went on mercilessly._ She'll never come back, even if you find your enemy without getting killed. She won't forgive you. And you will miss her, Severus, miss her dreadfully._

Snape slammed his fist on the windowsill. This was ridiculous. How could he get so maudlin about a girl he hardly knew? This was a situation of life and death, and emotions were only obstructive now. _Get yourself together_, he told himself sternly. _Heaven knows you've done much worse things, much worse._

With a great effort he pushed away the thoughts and feelings that were raging inside him, took a few more seconds to compose his face and then set out to look for Hermione.

Snape found her outside, sitting in the sun on the bench in front of the house. _He can see us here if he's observing the house_. The thought flashed through Snape's mind and he cast a furtive look around, knowing that if they were indeed watched it was highly unlikely that he would be able to spot his enemy. Snape didn't know what he should do, how to make Hermione leave, but he was resolved that it should happen as soon as possible. The longer she stayed, the more she was in danger.

Hermione's eyes were closed and he thought she was sleeping, but suddenly she opened them and smiled at him lazily.

"I'm not asleep if that's what you think," she said, stifling a yawn.

He gave her a critical look. "You certainly should get some rest," he stated, his voice dispassionate.

"I will, tonight," she replied. "But as long as I'm here it'd be a waste to sleep."

Snape felt a sudden pang. He didn't know how to reply to that and sat down next to her. "So what do you want to do?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "We could talk. Or even better, you could talk and I'll listen. I'm afraid I'm not a very good conversationalist at the moment." Again she suppressed a yawn. "But I like to listen to your voice. It's very nice – as long as you're not yelling or snarling at somebody."

Snape suddenly felt his throat constrict. "Thank you for the compliment." He was glad that his voice didn't betray the emotional turmoil that was raging inside him. "And what do you want me to tell you?"

She threw him a cautious look. "What did you do after you left Hogwarts for good? If that's not too personal."

"Not at all. I travelled. For the first time in my life I had the time, the freedom and the means."

She looked interested. "Then please tell me about your travels."

And so Snape began to tell her about them. At first she faced him, her eyes fixed on his face, bright with interest. But he saw how tired and exhausted she was, and as he progressed she leaned her head on the warm wall next to her, and only nodded from time to time. Finally her eyes closed and after a few minutes Snape was quite sure that she was asleep. Nevertheless he went on talking, the sun warm on his face and her slow breathing next to him. She looked happy in her sleep. Happy and so young and vulnerable. He knew that he shouldn't prolong it, that he should try to get rid of her as soon as possible, for her and his own good. But this was a perfect moment and he couldn't find it in him to ruin it.

Suddenly she murmured something in her sleep, and when Snape stopped talking her head slowly slumped down from where it was leaning on the wall onto his shoulders. She mumbled some more unintelligible words and snuggled closer to him, her warm slender body pressed against his left side, her hand coming to rest on his thigh.

Snape froze. He felt a strange feeling of happiness and longing wash over him, but at the same time a deep sadness; for he had realized that this was his chance to make her go away, the perfect chance to show to whoever was perhaps watching that he wasn't interested in her in any way. And then, in a moment of sudden clearness and honesty, he knew that Dumbledore was right. That, as strange as it sounded, he loved the young woman next to him, that he had had for some time now, no matter how much he had tried to hide it away from the world and from himself. How strange…

Snape lingered on this thought for a while, feeling elated and sad at the same time. It wouldn't change what he had to do, though. There was no future for them, and it'd be selfish to risk Hermione's well-being just because he didn't want to be parted from her. It was too late now. It had always been too late for him.

He looked down on her for a few more seconds, then said in as cold a voice as he could muster, "What do you think you are doing?"

Hermione stirred and her eyes fluttered open. When she realized that her head was resting on his shoulder, her body leaning against his, she quickly straightened up and backed away. There was confusion in her eyes as she faced his hard and contemptuous face.

"I, I'm sorry. I fell asleep," she said, shaking her head a little to wake up.

He looked at her coldly. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave now."

"What?" Her eyes were wide with bewilderment. "Why? What happened?"

"Your…advances…are unwished for," Snape snarled. "I know that you have been much affected by the death of your friends and the loss of your boyfriend. You are a lonely and troubled young woman, and you were obviously glad to have found someone to talk to. But if you think that my behaviour towards you indicated any personal interest in you, anything that would invite such behaviour from your side, you are very mistaken."

Hermione looked as if he had slapped her. "What are you talking about?" she whispered. "I don't understand."

"Your behaviour in Stratford was unacceptable," Snape pressed on. He saw comprehension dawn on her face, shock, embarrassment and pain. "At the time I thought it was the alcohol that made you act in such a way, that you took me for your boyfriend who had just left you or for Weasley, and I decided to overlook it. But the last days have shown me that there was more to it. Whatever you have deluded yourself into feeling, there is no foundation in reality for it. I think it best if you leave now."

Her face was very white and there were tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Severus," she whispered. "I didn't want to…it just happened. But I never wanted…" she trailed off and looked down on her hands. "I never supposed there could ever…"

Her pain and confusion made his heart ache. But his voice was as cold and disdainful as ever as he went on. "You not only thrust yourself upon me, you also pried into my past, violating my privacy."

She looked up again and there was a spark of anger now in her large brown eyes. _Good_, Snape thought. Her anger was much easier to bear than her pain.

"I never did such a thing," she said, her voice still strained but her chin raised in defiance now. The Gryffindor-defiance he had seen so many times when she had still been his student. "It was coincidence I found out about Lily." She raised her chin even more. "And if I remember correctly what happened in Stratford, you kissed me back. You didn't seem like an unwilling victim then."

Snape's breath caught in his throat and he got up quickly. But although he was now towering over her she still held his gaze with her fiery eyes. "Whatever you think happened is hardly relevant," he hissed, glowering down on her. "You were deluded by alcohol and emotional need. And it is ridiculous to think I could ever feel anything for you."

Hermione's eyes widened with shock and anguish and she stared at him as if suddenly she had realized that he was not the person she thought he was. For a few moments a tense silence hung between them, then she got up, her face deathly pale but without tears. "I see that now," she said, her voice shaky but nearly as icy as his. "It seems I was mistaken in you after all. You are just as twisted and cold and cruel as Sirius said you were."

Snape winced at the name of his old enemy, and a small triumphant smile stole over Hermione's face. "Lily was lucky she got rid of you," she whispered, her eyes blazing. "Really lucky."

"Get away," Snape spat, his face contorting with rage. "Get out of my house!"

"I will," Hermione replied, her wide eyes still holding his without flinching. "Good-bye Severus." And she turned and rushed into the house.

Snape remained standing, staring at the place where she had just been. His heart was beating hard and there was a great feeling of emptiness inside him.

It had worked. She would leave and she certainly disliked him enough now never to come back. But all he felt was pain.

When he thought he could trust his voice again, he called his house-elf. "Miss Granger will be leaving us immediately," he told her. "See if she's ready and as soon as she is, take her to whatever destination she wants." He paused, then went on, "And I forbid you to over contact her again. Do you understand?"

Rose looked confused, but nodded and went to look for Hermione.

Snape remained outside for a few more minutes, then turned and slowly walked back into the house.

She had believed him. A painful smile played around his mouth. He had always been so good in hiding his feelings, so good at make-believe. He had fooled even Voldemort. And now her.

But it was for her own good, wasn't it? It was necessary. And he had done so many things that had been much worse.

As he rounded a corner, he found his way blocked by Crookshanks. He was sitting in the middle of the corridor, looking up at him with what Snape would have called a reproachful expression if it hadn't been a cat.

"I am sorry," Snape found himself saying in a low voice. "It was necessary."

The cat still gazed at him unflinchingly, then got up and trotted towards him, rubbing his head against his leg.

"Take good care of her, will you?" Snape said, his throat strangely constricted. Crookshanks looked up at him and then, with a flicker of his bushy tail, he turned and disappeared down the corridor.

**…**

Hermione rushed to her room, her head spinning with anger and pain and confusion. She mechanically stuffed the few things she had brought with her into her bag, and as soon as she had finished, Rose appeared, her face deeply troubled.

"Master told me to take you to whatever destination you wish," she said hesitantly, looking at Hermione with her large eyes full of questions.

Hermione just nodded. "We have to find Crookshanks," she said, forcing her voice not to betray her emotional turmoil. At that moment the cat pushed through the half-open door and went straight for Hermione's legs, rubbing his face against them and purring loudly.

Hermione bent down to pick him up. "Please take me to my parents' house," she said, and the next moment she felt the familiar jerk of apparition. When she found her breath again she was standing in her parents' living room.

"Thank you, Rose," she said and gave the elf a forced smile.

Rose nodded. "It was a pleasure serving you. I have to go back now."

"Wait." Conflicting emotions were fighting in Hermione, but she said, "If you ever need help…for your master…or for yourself, you can come to me."

Rose just stared at her and finally gave a rather forced nod.

"He told you that you mustn't ever contact me again, didn't he?" Hermione asked with a painful pang.

Rose's wide-eyed, sad look was answer enough.

"I see," Hermione said slowly. "Very well, but if you need me, I'll be there. Good-bye Rose."

"Good-bye, mistress." And the elf disappeared.

Hermione mechanically took up her bag and went to her room. Her anger had disappeared, leaving only weariness, utter bewilderment and a choking sadness. In her room she just put the bag in a corner and sat down on the bed, staring at the wall in front of her. Crookshanks, who had followed her, jumped onto the bed, sat down next to her and began licking her hand.

Whatever had happened? Hermione shook her head. Perhaps if she weren't that tired she could make sense of it. So she had really kissed Snape in Stratford. Hermione winced. How embarrassing. And obviously he hadn't liked it. He thought she wanted to throw herself on him, and had made it very clear that he didn't want her near him. But why so suddenly? Everything had been alright, hadn't it? She had even had the feeling that their relationship had reached a new dimension with his confession about Lily and their success with the potion. But it seemed she had been mistaken, otherwise why should he treat her so cruelly?

Hermione sank down on her bed, curling herself around the purring cat which looked at her with a rather worried expression. "I'm alright, Crooks," she whispered. He just stared at her with his penetrating eyes. "No, you know I'm not."

Or was it some strange tactic of Snape to keep her out of harm's way by pushing her away? She wouldn't put it past him. But she'd have left him that evening anyway. And his anger and disdain had seemed so real. How could he hurt her like this if he didn't actually loath her? No, she was fooling herself, desperately searching for any explanation that might ease the pain. For there was a terrible ache in her chest. She would never see him again, would she? And suddenly Hermione started crying in great, painful sobs, and Crookshanks snuggled even closer and rested his soft furry face against her cheek, his purring soothing in her ears until she finally fell asleep.

* * *

_I know I'm not being nice but without some complications the story would be boring, wouldn't it ;-)?_

_To answer Griff's question: Unfortunately I don't know "Kushiel's Dart" but named Snape's owl after Alcuin of York, a leading scholar at the court of Charlemagne._

_Thanks for staying with this story, and special thanks to those who leave a review. My greatest thanks, however, go as always to my Beta C.E. Belvedier._


	28. Picking up the pieces

**Picking up the pieces**

Snape quickly went to his living room. He didn't want to face Dumbledore and he fervently hoped that Hermione wouldn't decide to seek him out. Perhaps he should have remained outside? Gone for a walk? But his worry was unnecessary, for about fifteen minutes later Rose appeared and told him that she had taken Hermione to her parents' house.

As soon as Rose had left again, Snape apparated to Hermione's rooms in Cambridge. He had no idea if his maneuver would have the decided effect on his enemy, and anyway he had to make as sure as possible that no harm came to her.

When he had apparated, he immediately closed the curtains so no one could observe him. Then Snape looked around the room. It was full of books, of course. Apart from this there was nothing remarkable about it. Some pictures on the wall above the bed drew his attention. On top was a photograph of Hermione as a young girl, with what must be her parents. She had obviously inherited her mother's wild hair, but her facial resemblance was to her father. And yes, he had similar large front teeth. Snape had nearly forgotten them. Once he had made a cruel comment about them, hadn't he? He had truly hurt her then. It wasn't a pleasant thought, and Snape quickly concentrated on the other pictures. One was a photograph of her, Potter and Weasley in muggle clothes. Probably from their third or fourth year. They looked happy, grinning at the camera rather self-consciously. Happy and so young. Looking at the other pictures, Snape detected the Weasley girl, Longbottom and the Lovegood girl in one of them. There was also one where Hermione stood arm in arm with John, her friend from the RSC. And then a sudden jolt hit Snape as he glanced down to the last picture. It was the photograph she had sent him, the one with him and her dancing. He stared at it for some time, feeling a fierce sadness.

There was no use, no use at all. He had been right to make her leave, right to protect her. And he hadn't come here to wallow in self-pity, but to make sure that no harm would come to her. Quickly Snape started casting a number of protective spells. He couldn't protect her everywhere, but while she was in this room she'd be relatively safe. He also cast some spells which would attach themselves to her the next time she entered this room and give her some protection wherever she went. He intended to do the same with her parents' home as soon as she left.

When he had finished Snape looked around the room attentively. For his last spell he needed something personal from Hermione. It was a very potent charm which would alert him if she was in danger. But he couldn't take something she'd miss, he must take something inconspicuous.

His eyes lighted on a shallow bowl on a shelf. It contained the hairpins topped with pearls which she had worn in Stratford. And there were a few hairs still caught in one of them.

Snape took it out and twirled it between his fingers. He could just take the hairs, they'd be more than enough for the spell. But after a while he put the pin in his pocket, gave a last look to the room, and disapparated.

**…**

"Is Miss Granger gone?" Dumbledore asked as soon as Snape entered his study.

"Yes," he replied curtly, meeting Dumbledore's concerned eyes only for a second and then walking towards his desk where he started rummaging in his notes.

Snape had returned to his house over an hour ago, but had spent the time in his laboratory, finishing the spells he had put on Hermione's room and looking after the Anti-Werewolf-Potion. The elation he had felt in the morning when he had shown Hermione their breakthrough had vanished, and more then once he caught himself staring straight ahead, his mind not with the potion but with what had happened. Had it really only been a few hours ago that he had worked with her in his laboratory? It seemed like ages now.

Finally Snape had decided that there was no use in endangering the potion with his sloppy work. He needed sleep; then he would be alright again. With a groan he also recalled that any minute Poppy would show up to check on him. Just what he wanted now.

And so he had at last left the laboratory and gone to his study to finally face Dumbledore. Snape wasn't keen on talking to him, but that was ridiculous, wasn't it? He had only done what he had to do, and there was no reason why he should fear Dumbledore's comments.

"I put a number of protective spells on Hermione and on her room in Cambridge," Snape told the elder wizard. "She should be relatively safe."

Dumbledore remained silent, which surprised Snape, but he didn't look up from his desk.

"I am sorry, Severus." Dumbledore eventually said quietly.

Snape gave a short laugh. "I've done much worse in the past."

"I know, but this is different."

Snape stared down on his notes. _It is, isn't it?_, he thought for a second, but pushed that thought away immediately. "You needn't be concerned about me," he stated, his voice not betraying any emotions.

Silence again. "Very well," Dumbledore said at last. "I guess the best thing we can do is to find whoever did this to you as soon as possible."

Snape turned around and faced the former headmaster. "Indeed, that would be the best thing."

**…**

"He just kicked you out?" Ginny was staring at Hermione, her eyes wide with surprise and concern. It was a few days after Hermione had left Snape and she had gone down to London to see Ginny. She desperately needed someone to talk to.

Hermione nodded. She had told Ginny everything and her friend looked as confused as she had been.

"This doesn't make sense," Ginny said, shaking her head in bewilderment. "And before that sudden outburst he acted just normal?"

"As normal as you could imagine. He was a bit stiff, with me being in his house and everything." Hermione paused for a second, wondering if she should tell Ginny about Lily, but deciding against it. Even if Snape was a cruel bastard this was just too private. "I've thought about it a lot." She gave Ginny a bitter smile. "Actually I've hardly done anything else for the past days. And there are only three possibilities. Either he truly loathes me. Or he somehow felt threatened by our friendship and by the fact that I had been there when he was under the influence of the Memorate Potion. Or he did it to keep me out of harm's way."

"That would be a rather drastic measure, wouldn't it?" Ginny pointed out. "Very dramatic."

"I know, but I wouldn't put it past him." Hermione grimaced. "But perhaps I'm just trying to find excuses so I don't have to believe that his contempt for me was real."

Ginny reached out and took her hand, pressing it encouragingly. "So you really kissed him in Stratford?" she asked slowly.

Hermione winced. "Seems like it. Unfortunately I still can't remember it clearly. I have the suspicion that he put a memory charm on me. It's infuriating, really."

They both were silent for a while until Hermione suddenly shook her head vehemently. "There is no use whining. I've analyzed the situation as well as I can, and that's all I can do. I better get myself together again." She gave a short laugh. "Even the porter at my college is worried. She asked me if I was ill and when I finally told her I had quarreled with a friend she tried to set me up with her brother!"

Ginny grinned. "Perhaps not a bad idea."

Hermione shook her head. "She's in her late fifties, so I declined politely." Her voice got serious again. "Actually there's something I'd like to ask you to do for me."

"Sure, go ahead."

Hermione felt rather self-conscious. "There's a portrait of Dumbledore at the Ministry, isn't there?"

"Yes, right in the entrance hall. He likes to talk to people."

"Could you ask him if Snape is alright? You know, with of the Memorate Potion, and with someone obviously after him…"

"Sure," Ginny replied, giving Hermione an understanding look. "It might take some time, though. You know the entrance hall is rather busy and I can hardly discuss Snape in front of other people. But I'll try to ask Dumbledore as soon as I get the chance."

"Thank you." Hermione paused, then went on with a wry smile. "It's pathetic, isn't it? If he really despises me, then good riddance. And if not there's nothing I can do, can I?"

"I'm afraid not. You really like him, don't you?"

"I do," Hermione said simply, feeling a sudden lump in her throat. The two young women stared at each other for a while until Hermione broke the eye contact and looked down on her hands. "But it shouldn't be that hard to learn to live without Severus Snape, should it?"

* * *

_Thanks for your reviews! I'm very glad that people actually read (and like!) this story. And special thanks to C.E. Belvedier for correcting my mistakes._


	29. Accustomed to her face

**Accustomed to her face**

Two weeks later Hermione and Ginny met again in London. October had begun with cold and dreary weather and more than once Hermione thought wryly that it perfectly mirrored her mood.

"I asked Dumbledore," Ginny said as soon as she and Hermione had sat down on her sofa. "Snape's fine."

Hermione felt relieved. "I'm glad to hear it. Do you know if they've found out yet who poisoned him?"

"No, they haven't," Ginny replied. "Dumbledore was kind of reluctant to tell me anything. You know how he can be, at first he was all twinkly eyes and friendly, but when I asked him about Snape he got really taciturn. But he admitted that they hadn't found the guy yet – or the woman." She hesitated for a moment and finally went on. "He asked me how you were."

Hermione gave her a slightly forced smile. "Well, what did you tell him?"

Ginny shrugged her shoulders, observing Hermione attentively. "I said you're not happy but coping. I hope that was okay?"

"Of course. I'm alright, you know."

"Yes", Ginny replied, not seeming wholly convinced. "Anyway," she quickly added, "today I also learned that someone sent a strange new anti-werewolf-potion to St Mungo's. A potion which is supposed to prevent any form of transformation when taken regularly, if not to remedy the werewolf-bite completely."

"Indeed!" Hermione felt suddenly excited. "That was fast. He must have worked night and day… So what do they think?"

"They're still testing it, but what I heard was rather positive. You can be proud of yourself."

"Oh, I am", Hermione said. _I just wished I could have shared this with him._

**…**

"She enquired after you." Dumbledore stated as soon as Snape had sat down at his desk.

"Who?" Snape asked without looking up from his notes although he knew the answer.

"Miss Granger. She sent Miss Weasley to ask my portrait in the Ministry how you are."

Reluctantly Snape turned to face Dumbledore. "And, what did you tell her?"

"That you are fine. Although that isn't true."

Snape gave a short, joyless laughter. "Well, that's hardly surprising. After all someone is after me and we still don't know who it is."

Dumbledore just looked at him, his eyes full of infuriating understanding. "I asked her in return how Miss Granger is," he finally went on.

"Indeed… And, how is she?"

"Not too well, it seems."

Snape hesitated for a second, then said "I'm sorry to hear it," in a noncommittal tone. "But I'm afraid that can't be helped. Did you hear anything about the potion?"

Dumbledore grinned. "Ah, well, that was the talk of the Ministry. They have been running some tests at St Mungo's and it seems they are rather impressed. Well done, Severus, you can be proud of yourself."

Snape inclined his head a little. "Thank you. It has been much work."

"I noticed that," Dumbledore said. "Especially over the last weeks. You shouldn't have worked yourself like that, not after you had to suffer from the Memorate Potion. You can't have got much sleep."

"I was busy," Snape replied, feeling rather uncomfortable under the elder man's steady gaze. "And you know that I'm not finished yet. The potion prevents transformation but it isn't able to cure werewolves completely. There is still much work to do." Dumbledore was right, he had worked day and night. To finish the potion, of course. If as a result he had also been too preoccupied and too tired to think much about Hermione, then that had been a welcome relief, hadn't it?

_But it hasn't worked, has it?_ The traitorous voice whispered in his head. _You are thinking of her all the time. _October had arrived, and with it the familiar memories of Lily. But Snape had found to his surprise and dismay that they were overlaid with memories of Hermione. Which wasn't an improvement. As soon as he didn't concentrate on his work, he saw the look in her eyes when he had pushed her away. So full of bewilderment and pain… And in his few hours of sleep he was haunted by dreams of her. Quite innocent dreams, really. Her face when she was smiling at him. Her eyes alight with enthusiasm over some scientific problem. The warmth of her bare skin under his hand when they had been dancing. The touch of her lips…

Snape drew in his breath and shook his head in irritation. It was hard enough to deal with guilt over one woman, two were just too much. But try as he may he couldn't get rid of the memories. _Especially now when you've sent the potion to St Mungo's_, the voice whispered._ She should have been there. She worked so hard to help you, she should have had some part in the glory. Be honest. You wanted her to be there so you could share your triumph with her. Your happiness. You try not to think of her and yet just yesterday you took out her picture to look at it. Why haven't you destroyed it? You miss her, Severus. And no amount of work and weariness will change that_.

Dumbledore was still looking at him searchingly and Snape felt annoyed. "Any success with the persons from my list?" he asked in a clipped tone.

The elder wizard shook his head. "I checked all of them. They're either definitely dead, or still in Azkaban. Apart from Lucius, of course. I've made some inquiries about him, but so far haven't got any incriminating results. And Gerold is still on the run."

Snape made a throwaway gesture with his hand, got up from his chair and started pacing up and down the room. "We're not getting anywhere," he replied, his voice tense with frustration.

"You're right, but I'm afraid there's nothing else we can do right now. You know this could take years if your enemy doesn't decide to make a new attempt at your life and thereby reveals himself somehow."

"I know," Snape replied curtly.

"So what about Miss Granger?"

"What?" Snape stopped pacing and glowered at Dumbledore's picture, feeling highly irritated. "What about her?"

"You really don't want to talk to her until you've found whoever poisoned you, even if it might take years?"

"I thought we've been through that. It's necessary for her and my own safety."

"But even if we find whoever did this to you, you know that there are other people out there who have some grudge against you."

"Yes."

"So according to your logic," Dumbledore went on mercilessly, "you could never associate with her again, because it'd always put her – and you – in danger. Am I right?"

Snape met Dumbledore's hard stare unflinchingly. For once he couldn't read the emotions in the bright blue eyes. "Yes," he replied flatly. "I never should have got involved with her. It was an imprudent weakness."

"I see," Dumbledore said slowly. "What a shame. And you really think that's the right decision?"

"Listen," Snape replied in irritation, "why can't you just leave that alone? Do you have nothing else to meddle with?"

Dumbledore regarded him silently for a few seconds, then nodded. Suddenly he looked very sad. "If that is your wish, my boy. I just had hoped that…"

"What?" Snape cut in, his rising voice betraying his anger. "What did you hope, Dumbledore? That she'd fall in love with me, rescue me from the ghosts of my past and we'd live happily ever after?"

Dumbledore met his burning gaze with the benign smile that so infuriated Snape. "Something along that line, yes."

Snape laughed aloud, but it was a bitter laugh. "You're living in a romantic dream world. Tell me, how could she ever be anything but repulsed by me, a former Death Eater who terrorized her and her friends as children."

Dumbledore shook his head. "It's you who is blind, Severus," he said quietly. "She respects you. Why else should she have worked with you? And she regards you as her friend; that much was clear when she took care of you."

Snape felt a strange ache in his chest but tried to ignore it by concentrating on his anger for Dumbledore. "She might have had some respect and friendly feelings for me. But if you think that means that she loved me then you know nothing about love."

Suddenly Dumbledore's face changed subtly, looking sharp and painful. But his voice betrayed nothing as he replied, "Trust me, Severus, I know enough about love."

They stared at each other in silence for what to Snape seemed like a long time. "There is no use in discussing this," he finally stated in a flat voice. "Whatever feelings Hermione might have had for me, they are certainly changed now. I would ask you to leave it at that."

Dumbledore inclined his head a little. "If you wish, Severus."

Snape turned and sat down at his desk, feeling the accusatory stare of Dumbledore on his back and the strange ache in his chest.

**…**

"Hello luv," Mary greeted Hermione cheerfully when she returned from London after her talk with Ginny. Then the porter gave her a second look. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you look troubled. Is everything alright?"

Hermione winced. After what Ginny had told her of her conversation with Dumbledore, her thoughts had again been focused on Snape and on what had happened. And the dreary weather had done nothing to alleviate her bleak thoughts. She shrugged her shoulders. "It's nothing, really."

Mary gave her a critical look. "Alright. But if you need someone to talk to, just come and have a cup of tea with me, will you?"

Hermione smiled gratefully. "Thanks, I will." Over the last weeks Mary had become a good friend and more than once Hermione had found herself sitting with her in her small porter's lodge, sipping tea and telling her about her troubles. In a rather guarded fashion, of course, but nevertheless it was nice to have someone else to talk to apart from Ginny. And the elder woman had always good advice and radiated a wry humour and calmness which was soothing to Hermione.

"You know," Mary went on, "I think you should take a holiday. You've been working so hard lately and it's the best way to take your thoughts off unpleasant things. You should go somewhere warm and sunny, to get away from this terrible weather and to get your head clear."

Hermione was about to decline politely, but then hesitated. Mary was right, she really could do with a change of place. "You know what, I think that's a good idea," she said. "I'll think about it."

Hermione went up to her room and after a few minutes of debating with herself and after checking her calendar she switched on the computer. It wasn't a bad idea at all, she hadn't had a real holiday for ages and it would be good for her to get away and to have something to distract her from her thoughts about Snape.

_Rome would be nice_, Hermione thought as she was looking at travel websites. _Or Madrid or Istanbul. Somewhere where the weather isn't as dreary, somewhere interesting and different._ And so, after about an hour of research, she booked a four days trip to Rome for early December.

* * *

_Ten points to those who know where the chapter's title comes from ;-)._

_As always my special thanks go to my Beta C.E. Belvedier for her corrections and suggestions_


	30. Nothingness

**Nothingness**

The rest of October and November passed without much happening. Hermione immersed herself in her studies, trying to think as little about Snape as possible, working long hours in the library and at her computer. When she went to bed she was usually so exhausted she slept like a stone. But there were still nights when her sleep was troubled by dreams of Snape. Often she dreamed of him as she had last seen him, his face hard and full of disdain. Or she was transported back to her schooldays and he was making fun of her in front of the whole class. But sometimes she dreamed of Snape as he had been over those last few years: a guarded and stiff man with a sometimes cutting humour, but also a good and surprisingly gentle listener whose eyes burned with intellectual passion in their discussions and whose stern face was sometimes transformed by a wry smile.

When Hermione woke after those dreams she felt bewildered anew by the contrast between the man she had thought she knew and the way he had behaved towards her. And try as she might, she couldn't stop feeling a choking sadness and longing. Everything seemed bleak and uninteresting. She hadn't known how much Snape and their work together had come to mean to her until they were no longer part of her life.

The effect he still had on her was infuriating and Hermione scolded herself for her weakness. But being reasonable didn't help. And of course there was the problem of the kiss. Now that she knew that it had really happened, she was turning the incident over in her mind again and again, frustrated that she remembered so little of it. Snape had responded to her kiss, hadn't he? And, if her memory served her right, in a rather passionate way. So what did that mean? Or was she only deluding herself?

On a rainy Thursday morning in early December Hermione finally left Cambridge laden with guide books and went to Heathrow Airport where she boarded a plane to Rome. She had only been there once, as a child with her parents, and didn't remember much more than a general feeling of awe in the presence of so much history.

When the plane touched down, Hermione was greeted by blue sky and sunshine. It was still cold, of course, but not as cold and wet as in England, and that alone was enough to raise her spirits. After depositing her luggage in her hotel, she boarded a bus and went to the centre of town, eagerly sucking in all the new impressions around her.

After hours full of walking and sightseeing and having eaten a delicious dish of pasta at a small restaurant Hermione finally returned to her hotel and went to bed. But although she was utterly exhausted she found it hard to go to sleep. What a city! There was so much to see, so much art and history that her mind was still busy processing it all. She had spent the day at the Forum Romanum, the Colosseum and on the Palatine and had been so impressed by the sights that she had hardly thought of Snape. It was only now, when she was lying in bed that the familiar thoughts stole back into her mind. But Hermione was determined not to let them ruin her holiday. After all it was now over two months since he had thrown her out. High time to get her life back together again. No, if he treated her like that he wasn't worth pining after. Definitely not. She was quite over him. Or very nearly. Yes, she had a life apart from Severus Snape, an exciting and fulfilling one, with friends who liked and esteemed her, and if he didn't want to be part of that, then good riddance! Concentrating fiercely on how much she didn't care about him, Hermione finally fell asleep.

She woke up with a start and the strange feeling that something was not right. Hermione groped for the light next to her bed, then remembered that she was in Rome, in a hotel room, and groped even more. But there was nothing, nothing at all, only utterly black darkness. It shouldn't be so dark, should it? There should be the glowing numbers of the radio, and light from the streetlights filtering through the drawn curtains. But although she stared into the darkness with all her might, she found no trace of light anywhere. Hermione felt her heart beat faster. Wide awake now, she cast around, even more frantic, yet nowhere did her hands meet any solid matter. It was as if the material world had disappeared. That couldn't be true, could it? Nevertheless, her shaking hands didn't find anything solid anywhere. Even the bed beneath her had disappeared and it was as if she was hanging in utterly dark limbo.

Panic rose up in Hermione and threatened to overwhelm her. _Calm down_, she thought fiercely. _You won't help yourself if you panic. Calm down!_ After a few moments she had fought back the panic, but it was just below the surface and Hermione knew that it could overwhelm her any time. _Think!_ She told herself. _This is a very bad and very realistic nightmare. It must be._ She lingered on this thought for a few moments, even pinched herself, but it didn't help. This didn't feel like a dream, it felt extremely real. _Well, if this isn't a nightmare, than I am in trouble. In real trouble… _There it was again, the panic rising inside her. "Hello?" Hermione called out tentatively. Nothing. She called out once more, louder now. Her voice sounded strange and she wasn't sure at all if there had been a sound in the first place or if it had only been in her head. What was this place? She wrapped her arms around her to hug herself and her heart nearly stopped. Her left arm was gone. Where it should have been her right hand found nothing. Hermione screamed.

**…**

Snape woke up with a start and instinctively reached for his wand. Only then did he realize that what had woken him was a small instrument looking a bit like a thin vase filled with a strange liquid which was standing on a shelf a few metres away. Snape quickly got out of his bed and went to look at the instrument which glowed bright red and emitted a high pitched buzzing sound. Suddenly he felt very cold. He checked two similar instruments next to the first, but they were silent and the liquid in them was dark blue.

_She's in danger._ The thought was hammering in Snape's mind. He quickly got out a large atlas, Hermione's hairpin and the few hairs he had of her, and performed a highly complicated spell. Usually the atlas should open on the page that showed the location of the person that the caster was looking for. Then the wand was put on the page and it would revolve until its tip pointed to the exact place. But nothing happened, the book stayed shut. Snape stared at it, then cast the spell once more. No reaction. Something was very wrong. He had performed this spell several times over the last weeks and it had always worked perfectly. His heart started beating faster. Whoever had her was shielding her, shielding her really well. Did they know that he had placed a tracking spell on her or was it just general precaution? He couldn't say, and whatever was the case, it only meant that he wouldn't be able to find her.

Suddenly a terribly familiar feeling of panic and guilt threatened to overwhelm him. _Get yourself together!_ He told himself angrily. _Hermione is not Lily, and Voldemort is long dead._ _You won't help her if you panic_. A look at his watch told Snape that it was a few minutes past five. Quickly he put on his clothes, then rushed to his study. But Dumbledore wasn't in his portrait. "Damn!" he cursed loudly. _Once I need him and he isn't there_. He couldn't wait for Dumbledore to come back. For a moment Snape hesitated, then he called his elf.

"Rose, Miss Granger is in danger. Are you able to locate her?"

The elf shut her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration. But when she opened her eyes again she shook her head and looked deeply troubled. "Rose can't find her," she said in a miserable voice.

Snape felt even more worried. "Stay here until Professor Dumbledore comes back," he instructed her, "and tell him that Miss Granger has disappeared and that I'm gone in search of her."

The elf nodded, her large eyes wide with fear, and Snape disapparated.

He apparated to Hermione's room in Cambridge. The first instrument, which was tied to Hermione herself, had shown him that she was in some sort of danger. Or at least that she thought she was in danger since the instrument was tied to her mind. The other two instruments, which were connected to her room in Cambridge and her parents' house, had told him that the protective spells he had placed on them had not been violated. Still, he might find some clues to what had happened in her room. And moreover, he didn't know what else to do.

Snape switched on the lights and scrutinized the room, then checked the wards. They were all in place and the room was orderly. No fight had taken place here. With a pang he noticed that she had taken down the picture of them dancing. But there was no time for silly sentimentalities now. He furrowed his brow. Actually everything was very orderly indeed. He quickly checked the bathroom. No toothbrush. It looked as if Hermione had gone away for a few days.

After a moment of deliberation Snape left the room and knocked at the door next to it. He had to knock for a while until it was finally opened by a blurry eyed blonde young woman who was looking at him with surprise and mistrust.

"Where is Hermione Granger?" Snape asked without any introduction.

She looked confused. "What's going on here? Who are you?"

"Where is Miss Granger?" he hissed.

She backed away a little and he saw fear in her face. "In Rome, I think."

"Since when?"

"She went yesterday morning. Listen, who are you? What do you want from her? And what are you doing here at this hour?"

"Where is she staying?"

She looked at him, mistrust, confusion and fear in her eyes.

"Where is she staying?" he asked once again, his voice menacing now.

"I don't know."

He stared into her eyes which were still confused with sleep and the strangeness of the situation, and knew that she was telling the truth. Without saying anything else he shut the door in her face and went back into Hermione's room to check if he could find any hints to where she was staying in Rome. But there was nothing. Then he brought everything in order again and quickly disapparated before her neighbour would call someone to check on the mysterious stranger.

When Snape went to his study he found to his relief that Dumbledore had returned to his portrait. Quickly he told him all he knew, which was not much. "There are hardly any leads we can follow," he finally said, his voice tense with frustration. "I guess she's disappeared somewhere in Rome, probably at her hotel at this time of night. But we don't know where she stayed."

Dumbledore looked deeply troubled by the news. "I will ask Miss Weasley in the morning, she might know something. And we can contact Hermione's parents, although I don't like to worry them."

Snape snorted. "They are used to it, aren't they?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'd prefer not to alarm them just now. But perhaps there is another way… Have you ever familiarized yourself with those ingenious muggle computers? Or the internet?"

"No, I have not," Snape said in an impatient and scornful tone.

The elder wizard sighed. "It's a shame that we are not more open for all those inventions. I really believe we could learn something from the muggles. If I were still alive… Anyway, knowing Hermione I am quite sure that some information as to her plans for Rome might be found on her computer. Perhaps she also used it to book the hotel. Do you remember Simon Taylor?"

Snape blinked, surprised at the question. "Ravenclaw, blond hair, one year above Hermione?"

Dumbledore beamed. "That's him. He's muggle-born and now works in the Ministry's Department of Muggle-relations. He's very good with computers, told me lots of astonishing things about them. I'll contact him as soon as he arrives at work."

Snape wasn't satisfied. "That is all very well but we can't wait that long," he said in a strained voice. "I'll go and ask Miss Weasley immediately if she knows something."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "And how do you think you'll do that?"

"I'll ask Arthur to tell me where to find her," Snape replied, glowering at Dumbledore defiantly.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation Dumbledore's mouth twisted for a second. "I'd love to see his face. Very well, do what you think you have to. Nevertheless I'll ask Simon as soon as he comes to work."

"Do that. But if Miss Weasley doesn't know anything we have to contact Hermione's parents. For Merlin's sake, Dumbledore, we can't just sit here and wait."

"Yes." Dumbledore fixed Snape with his bright eyes and, after a little hesitation, added, "You know that it probably doesn't matter if we find her or not. If her disappearance is connected to your poisoning, then whoever did it will most likely contact you. And he won't harm her."

Snape had been telling himself the same thing over and over. "I know, and I hope you're right. I really hope it. If anything should happen to her…"

The elder man nodded. "I'll go and contact a few people, perhaps I can find out something. I'll tell you as soon as I get any news."

Dumbledore walked out of his picture and Snape was left alone. Alone with his dark thoughts and fears, his frustration and the choking feeling that he was helplessness and that whatever might happen to Hermione was his fault.

* * *

_Well, the game is finally afoot ;-)._

_Thanks for all __those reviews I got last week! I was impressed how many recognised the reference to "My Fair Lady". _

_I like Elisa's suggestion to use "__Let a Woman in Your Life" as a chapter title – not for this fic, since it's as good as done, but perhaps for a future project. And thanks to Amr for pointing out my mistakes in earlier chapters, I corrected them._

_It's due to my great __Beta C.E. Belvedier that such mistakes are a thing of the past and I'm very grateful for all the time and effort she puts into this._

_By the way, Rome really _is _great, so go and visit it. _


	31. Search

**Search**

A few minutes after Dumbledore had left, Snape apparated to the Burrow.

It was still dark, a few minutes before six in the morning, and a cold wet wind was lashing his face, but Snape didn't notice it. It had been many years since he'd last been there, but from the outside the house hadn't changed. He hesitated for a moment, then knocked hard on the door. Nothing. He resumed knocking until finally he heard some movement inside.

The door opened a little and Snape looked into the sleepy eyes of Arthur Weasley. As soon as they fell on him, they widened in shock.

Snape smiled sardonically. "Good morning, Arthur. I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but it's urgent."

Arthur Weasley gaped at him for a few seconds, then visibly pulled himself together, nodded slowly and opened the door. "Severus, well, that's a surprise… But do come in."

He slowly stepped away from the door and Snape entered. "I need to know where your daughter lives," he stated. Arthur looked at him aghast and Snape gave a short, barking laughter. "Don't worry, I only need to ask her something."

"At this time?"

"It's about Hermione Granger," Snape went on, his irritation showing in his voice. "Listen, I know this is strange, but she's in danger and your daughter might know something that can help her."

Arthur looked worried and suspicious. "What danger, and what do you have to do with Hermione?"

Close to losing control, Snape hissed, "I don't have time for this now, but I can explain everything to you. Or Dumbledore can, if you don't trust me. Or even your daughter, I assume. But right now, I really need to know where she is."

Arthur stared at him for a few moments, then nodded. "All right, I'll take you to her. Just let me put something on and tell Molly."

"Do that," Snape said sarcastically. _Arthur doesn't trust me_, he thought. Taking Weasley with him as a chaperone wasn't exactly what Snape had wanted, but if that was necessary so that he could talk to Hermione's friend then so be it.

After a few minutes Arthur returned, dressed but rather flustered. Snape could only guess what he had told Molly. They both stepped out of the house, then Arthur put one hand on his arm and they disapparated. They apparated in a hallway in what looked like a building full of flats. Arthur led him to a door a few metres away and knocked. After several moments the door opened and Snape saw a rather tired looking Ginny Weasley.

"Dad," she mumbled, "what's the matter?" Suddenly she looked worried. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, Ginny," her father replied soothingly. "But I brought you a visitor who insisted on seeing you as soon as possible."

She turned to look at Snape and her eyes widened. "Professor," she exclaimed. "That's unexpected." She gave him a rather hard stare which forcibly reminded Snape of her mother. "Well, come in," she finally said.

They both entered and sat down on a sofa.

"I know you have lots of questions," Snape stated as soon as they were seated, fixing his eyes on the Weasley girl, "and I'm sure we can discuss everything eventually, but right now I need to know if you know where Hermione is staying in Rome."

The young woman blinked. "Is she all right?"

Snape felt uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. "I hope so," he replied, trying not to show how worried he was. "But it seems that she has disappeared, and I need to know where she was staying so I can find out where she is now."

His two listeners gasped. "I'm afraid I can't help you," the girl said, looking deeply troubled. "I only know that she went to Rome and was staying in some hotel. What about her parents?"

"Dumbledore didn't want to worry them until we know more," Snape explained, his voice showing his irritation. "But if we don't discover something soon, we'll have to contact them."

"I could ask them anyway," the young woman said. "I could phone them and tell them that I wanted to go to Rome and surprise Hermione, and that I needed her hotel's address for that. But I'd have to wait at least till half past seven, otherwise they'd get really suspicious."

Snape felt a surge of hope. "That's a good idea. Please do that and tell Dumbledore if you find out anything."

She nodded, then, after a few moments of deliberation, added, "Hermione booked the hotel over this muggle-internet. Perhaps someone can figure out where she went."

"Dumbledore said he knows someone who is good with computers," Snape replied.

The girl's eyes lit up. "Simon Taylor?" Snape nodded. "He really is," she went on, "he'll find it out." She fell silent but looked hard at Snape, and once again he was reminded of her mother's penetrating stare. "Is this connected to what happened to you in September?" she eventually asked.

Snape ignored Arthur's puzzled look but met her gaze unflinchingly. "It might be. I never wanted Hermione to be endangered."

She stared at him, her brow furrowed. "I see," she finally said. "Please, keep me informed. And if there is anything I can do, anything at all, tell me."

"I will. I need to go now. Good-bye Miss Weasley, good-bye Arthur."

He got up and disapparated right away, his last image the confused look on Arthur Weasley's face.

Back in his house, all Snape could do was wait. It was infuriating: Dumbledore was busy making enquiries, the Weasley-girl would ask Hermione's parents and Simon Taylor would be searching her computer; but all Snape could do was pace around his study, waiting for Dumbledore to return. He felt restless and frustrated at the lack of action. Merlin only knew what was happening to Hermione right now while he was stuck there, doing nothing. His hands opened and closed compulsively. He wanted to do something, anything was better than this waiting.

Snape was wracking his brain to come up with some other way to find Hermione, trying not to think of what might be happening to her. As soon as he let his mind dwell on this the panic that she could have been harmed – could be harmed right now because of him – threatened to overpower him.

Perhaps he should have told her about the danger? Shouldn't have pushed her away? He had wanted to protect her, but that obviously hadn't worked. Perhaps this never would have happened if he had told her...?

Shortly after seven Dumbledore brought the message that, unfortunately, Hermione's parents didn't know in which hotel she was staying. Obviously the Weasley-girl had been so worried she hadn't waited until a more polite time to contact them.

Dumbledore left again to pursue his investigations, leaving Snape once more alone with his fears and self-reproaches. The failure with Hermione's parents had increased his frustration and the choking feeling of helplessness that was threatening to overpower him as soon as his concentration slipped. He knew that even if he found the hotel this didn't necessarily mean that he'd find any clue as to what had happened to Hermione. But it was the only thing he could do now, the only thing which prevented him from feeling absolutely powerless.

"Rose!" he suddenly called out and immediately the elf appeared.

"Yes Master?"

"I need you to do something for me. Go to Malfoy Mansion and tail Lucius Malfoy. Make sure that he doesn't see you. And come and fetch me as soon as he is alone at a place where we won't be disturbed."

The elf nodded. "I will, Master" and disapparated.

Snape had no idea if Lucius had anything to do with this, but he was the only suspect he could get to at the moment and at least it was something to do.

Nearly two hours of excruciating waiting passed, bringing no message from Dumbledore, nor from Rose. Then the elf suddenly apparated, startling Snape who had sat down on his desk leafing through a book without really noticing any of its content.

"Master Malfoy is walking in the park alone," she said quickly, "take my hand, Master."

Snape reached out and they disapparated. When they apparated Snape found himself next to a group of bushes in what must be the large park surrounding Malfoy Manor. After a few seconds he heard someone coming closer. Carefully looking around the bushes he spotted Lucius.

Snape had no idea what Lucius was doing walking alone in the garden at this time of the day, but he didn't really care. Drawing his wand, he suddenly stepped out right in front of him.

The elder man stopped, stared at Snape and quickly reached for his wand.

"Don't do that," Snape hissed and Lucius dropped his hand.

"Severus. Well, that's a surprise," he said, masking his shock with his customary drawl. He still wore the arrogant expression that Snape knew so well, but he had aged visibly. Even without Dementors Azkaban was no holiday resort.

"Where is Miss Granger?" Snape hissed.

For a second Lucius's face was absolutely blank. "The little Mudblood?" He seemed honestly surprised. "I have no idea, I haven't seen her since… well, you know since when." He stared at Snape and suddenly the confusion in his face was replaced by a calculating look. "Why are you asking?"

"That's none of your concern."

Lucius eyed him thoughtfully and then abruptly laughed out loud. "Why, Severus, I never thought your tastes ran in that direction!" He smirked. "Tell me, did you have her while she was still your student?"

Snape's fingers clenched his wand but he kept his face dispassionate. "You disgust me, Lucius," he said in a flat voice.

"Do I, Severus? Well, well… Narcissa will never believe me when I tell her! You are full of surprises." His eyes narrowed. "Speaking of surprises, I never thought you were dead. You were a survivor, right from the start. But no, I don't have your precious Mudblood. I hold no grudge against her or you."

Snape snorted but Lucius shook his head. "I mean it. Azkaban was not pleasant, and we've suffered some financial losses. But the Dark Lord's death was the best thing that could have happened. You know how highly volatile he was in the end. It was more dangerous to be in his inner circle than to be a Mudblood! No, it would only have been a matter of time until he'd have killed us all, and so I'm truly grateful to you and little Potter."

Snape looked at him, trying to define if Malfoy was speaking the truth and finding to his surprise and frustration that he believed him. He had studied the elder man over the years and whatever talents Lucius had, he had never been a good liar. And his astonishment at Snape's connection with Hermione had been genuine. No, Malfoy didn't know anything about her.

Lucius met Snape's scrutinizing gaze with that condescending and derisive look that Snape remembered so well from his schooldays. Then suddenly his face took on a calculating expression. "But I have to admit you fooled me, Severus. After all the things you did I would never have thought that you weren't on our side. It seems I've always underestimated you."

"If that's all I'll leave you now," Snape said coldly.

"Wait," Lucius cut in. "Tell me, Severus, for how long have you truly been Dumbledore's man?"

"Longer than you can imagine, Lucius."

Malfoy smiled maliciously. "Indeed," he drawled. "Why, then the things you did are even more repulsive, aren't they? After all you did them without really believing in them. Tell me, Severus, does your little Mudblood-friend know about them?"

"Good-bye, Lucius."

Malfoy laughed out loud. "I didn't think so… Perhaps you are afraid she won't like you anymore if she knew? Well, I hope you can sleep soundly. Good luck with your search, Severus."

And he turned and walked away, leaving Snape standing alone, his mind whirling with anger and frustration and the pain of the knowledge that Lucius was right.

* * *

_ Everyone who found the story too slow in the last chapters: I hope you're happy with the new plot development – and I loved to write Lucius, he's __such a delicious villain (if I ever write another story I'll certainly include more of him)._

_Thanks for all the reviews and feedback and special thanks to my Beta __C.E. Belvedier!_


	32. The face of the enemy

**The face of the enemy**

At some point Hermione had stopped screaming but her mind was still lost in horror and panic. Only a very small voice at the back of her head was telling her to calm down, to get herself together, to think, for God's sake. The voice didn't stop and finally, slowly, over the panic muddling her mind Hermione was able to grasp a clear thought again.

_I am Hermione Jean Granger_,she thought fervently,_ I was born on September 19 1979, I went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 1991 to 1998, I've been reading Mathematics in Cambridge since 1998 and I helped defeat the greatest Dark Wizard of the last decades_. _I am Hermione Jean Granger…_

It was very hard but eventually she managed to push the terror and panic away, holding it just below the surface. After a while she had calmed down sufficiently to be able to think straight again. Yet Hermione knew that it was a precarious victory, that she was only a short step away from being overwhelmed by her fear again.

_Concentrate!_ She told herself. _I must concentrate on who I am, otherwise I'll lose myself._ Hermione thought of everything that made her the person she was, every memory, good or bad, that defined her. When she felt reasonably sure of herself she tentatively reached out with her right hand again, her heart beating fast. She sobbed with relief when her hand touched her left arm.

Hermione hugged herself, her thoughts racing. Whatever this place was, she didn't believe that she was really bodily there. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she didn't feel any thirst, hunger nor tiredness. And while she could talk and cry out, she didn't have the impression that she really created any sound. No, it seemed that just her mind was trapped in this strange nothingness. And it was the power of her mind which created the illusion of a material body. But obviously only as long as she concentrated hard enough. Hermione had no idea what would happen if she didn't, but she had no intention of finding out.

If she could create a body with the power of her mind, perhaps she could manipulate her surroundings as well? Sudden hope filled Hermione and she concentrated very hard and thought of some kind of exit, a door that would let her out. But nothing happened, the darkness around her remained impenetrable. Next Hermione tried to imagine some source of light, but still nothing happened. It seemed that the power of her mind only influenced her perception of her own body.

But why was she here? This could hardly be an accident. To put her into a state like this, some powerful magic must have been performed. But by whom? It was possible that some people held a grudge against her because of her role in bringing Voldemort down, but she hadn't gone into hiding and if someone would have wanted revenge, he could have taken it much earlier. Or was it because of Snape? Well, if anyone hoped to get to him via her, he was obviously not up-to-date. Snape wouldn't come for her.

Quickly Hermione pushed that thought away. Certainly someone would notice that something had happened to her. But probably only in a few days, after all she had gone to Rome and no one would miss her before Sunday evening. Hermione felt the panic rise inside her again. No, everything would be all right, her friends would come looking for her. Ginny, and the Weasleys, and Neville. They would help her.

But what if this had nothing to do with magic? Perhaps she had had some real accident and just couldn't remember? Perhaps she was in a coma…people could remain in a coma for years, some never woke up…

Hermione started to shiver violently. _No!_ She thought. _I won't panic, I won't! I've faced Voldemort, haven't I? I won't lose my mind, I simply won't. I'm Hermione Jean Granger and I haven't survived the war to get crazy now!_

Very slowly Hermione calmed down again and the shivering subsided. She stared out into the impenetrable darkness, trying hard to concentrate on who she was so she didn't have time to think of what might become of her. She had never felt this lost and forlorn. There was a great lump in her throat and she fought hard not to start crying. "I will survive this!" she said into the darkness, her voice pitifully hushed in the great void around her. Quickly Hermione wrapped her arms around the illusion of her body, painfully aware of how precarious it was.

**…**

Back at his house, Snape went almost crazy with the insecurity of what had happened to Hermione and his inability to do anything about it. It was nearly three o'clock when Dumbledore finally reappeared in his portrait, panting heavily as if he had been on his feet a lot. "Simon found her hotel," he announced, beaming. "He really is clever with those computers."

Snape shot up from his chair. "What's its name?" he asked in a pressed voice.

"Hotel Lavinia, Via Giulia 128."

"I'll go there directly."

"Be careful," Dumbledore warned him. "Whoever did this doesn't simply want to kill you, he wants to take revenge in a much more devious manner."

"I'm aware of this. But I can't just sit here and wait for something to happen."

"I know. Good luck, Severus."

Snape quickly changed into muggle clothes and then disapparated straight to a secluded area of bushes on the Palatine he remembered from his own visit to Rome shortly after the fall of Voldemort. He hoped that at this time of the year there wouldn't be many tourists around. It was exhausting to apparate over such a long distance without any stopover, and when he had apparated he swayed and had to close his eyes for a while until the feeling of sickness passed. When he felt well again he broke through the bushes, startling some American tourists, and then he went straight down the hill to the nearest taxi stand.

Due to the infernal Roman traffic the taxi took nearly twenty minutes to the hotel. Snape could hardly sit still with impatience. When he arrived, he had to wait a few more minutes until a new guest had checked in before it was his turn to talk to the concierge.

"I'm looking for Miss Hermione Granger," he said in an urgent tone.

"Miss Granger," the concierge answered with a strong Italian accent. "Let me see." He started typing into one of these muggle computers. "I'm sorry, but she checked out this morning."

"Oh." Snape was thinking fast. "That is very strange. We were supposed to meet here. Do you know when she left?"

"Miss Granger is a young woman, about as tall as me, with brown eyes and brown curly hair?"

Snape nodded.

"She left shortly before noon. Said that her grandmother had died unexpectedly and she had to leave immediately."

"I see." Snape replied. This couldn't have been the real Hermione, after all his instruments had raised the alarm in the early hours of the morning. And if really something had happened to her grandmother her parents would have told Ginevra Weasley.

Meanwhile the concierge had been searching his desk and finally pulled out a piece of paper. "Are you Mr. Snape?"

Snape's heart started beating faster. "Yes I am."

"Your friend left a message for you." He held the paper towards Snape.

Snape took it and unfolded the small note. In a handwriting that was definitely not Hermione's it said _I will see you later_. Nothing else.

Snape's thoughts were racing. Whoever had abducted Hermione had obviously expected him to show up sooner or later. And had made a cruel joke leaving him this message. Like a paper chase. It was in tune with how the mysterious enemy had behaved until now. Starting with the Memorate Potion he had played with him, had shown his power and Snape's lack of it. And now he had Hermione…

But he mustn't get angry now, mustn't get his mind clouded by anger and fear. Only if he thought straight and planned carefully would he be able to get her out of this unharmed. At least Snape hoped that.

He needed to know where her room was but the concierge would hardly tell him. So Snape thanked him and made to leave, but when he had nearly reached the entrance door he slipped his hand into his right coat pocket where he was carrying his wand and performed a quick spell. Suddenly there was a loud bang as one of the pictures hanging in the corridor leading to the breakfast room suddenly fell off the wall.

After a second of shock the concierge headed towards the noise. And Snape swiftly turned and went around the counter, fervently hoping that the man hadn't done anything with the computer. For the first time he wished that he would have heeded Hermione's half-joking offers to show him how to work one of these machines.

He heaved a sigh of internal relief when he spotted her name on the screen. Room 118. Snape checked that the concierge was still out of sight in the corridor, then quickly walked towards the other end of the entrance hall where stairs led up to the upper floors. A few seconds later he stood outside of room 118.

Since his enemy had obviously expected his coming, he could have set a trap for him. But Snape couldn't help it, he had to check this room. And so he cast a spell which would give him some protection against magic and opened the door.

He stepped into the room tentatively, his wand raised. On first glance there was nothing unusual. It had been cleaned and looked just like any normal hotel room. Snape closed the door and looked around carefully. Nothing, and certainly no trace of a fight. He cast a spell which would tell him if magic had been performed here in the last hours. Suddenly there was a bright green halo around the bed. Snape's pulse quickened. This still didn't help him much, but at least now he knew that someone had hexed Hermione in her sleep. As he turned around to look if anything else showed signs of magic, his heart skipped a beat. There, over a low bureau on the wall beside him, green words had appeared on the wall.

_If you want her back, take the vase. It will stay active for three minutes. If you don't come, she'll die._

Below the words on the bureau Snape spotted a simple white vase with fake flowers in it. He cursed. This was a brilliant move by his adversary. He didn't have time to get any help, didn't even have time to send his Patronus to Dumbledore, but would have to act immediately, surrendering himself into the hands of his enemy, or would have to risk Hermione's death. If he'd comply, his attempts at making his enemy believe that she didn't mean anything to him would have been in vain. But hadn't they been ever since he arrived at this hotel? For a moment Snape debated with himself, trying to divine if his enemy would really harm Hermione. But there was no choice, really, he couldn't risk that she'd be hurt, and so Snape grabbed his wand hard, reached out and touched the vase.

He felt the characteristic sensation of traveling by portkey. When the world got into focus again he found himself in what looked like a rather bare, not very large muggle living room. There was only a small sofa, pushed to the wall opposite of him. On it lay Hermione.

Snape rushed towards her, but was pushed back after one step by an invisible barrier. Turning around, he found that it surrounded him completely. Cursing below his breath, he tried a succession of spells to disable the barrier, but failed. Whoever had erected it must be a very powerful wizard.

Snape stared at Hermione. Her face was deathly pale and she didn't move. There was no way to find out if she was breathing. But he refused to believe that she was dead. Next to the sofa was a low small table with several bottles on it and Snape narrowed his eyes, trying to discern what kind of potions they had given to her, but was unable to identify them.

Looking around the room told him nothing. There was a door next to the sofa, and a window right behind him, but darkness was already gathering outside and all he saw was a large apartment block on what was probably the other side of the road. Yes, there was a road, he heard a car drive by. Judging by the twilight and the look of the flat and the apartment block he guessed that he was back in the UK.

Suddenly the door opened and Snape jerked around, raising his wand. An elder woman in simple muggle clothes stood in the doorway and looked at him with hardly suppressed triumph on her face. He had never seen her before.

"Hello Severus," she said, her smooth voice hardly masking her excitement. "It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

When Snape heard her voice his heart skipped a beat. He stared at her. This was impossible, wasn't it? He himself had seen her corpse after that fight with Bellatrix. And yet, he'd never forget that voice… But if this was really Livia Chatswold he and Hermione were in trouble. In deathly trouble.

"Livia. I certainly wouldn't have expected to see you again," he said, trying to keep his voice level. It would be dangerous to betray any weakness to her.

She gave a short laugh and stepped closer. "But Severus," she replied in a teasing tone, "you pretended to be dead, didn't you? You should know that the dead are often not as dead as you think."

"So you faked your death?" Snape asked, observing her closely, trying to detect in this lined face traces of the beautiful woman he had known, but finding it very hard. Only the eyes were still the same. Eyes of a startling dark blue which could look warm and friendly one and heart-stoppingly cold the next moment. "If so it was very convincing. I saw your body and I thought you were dead. And I wouldn't have believed that Constantine was such a good actor to just play act his grief."

Livia's face got tense. "No, he thought I was dead alright. And I would have been, after all that bitch Bellatrix used the Avada Kedavra on me. It was a coincidence that I had been experimenting with a new shielding potion shortly before we started quarrelling. As it was, the curse didn't kill me. But my body was as good as dead, at least at first. That's why you didn't find any signs of life. My mind, however, was still alive, only at another place."

Snape stared at her, held by her eyes which were burning with a passion and satisfaction that made him feel rather uncomfortable. "What do you want from me?" he asked coldly.

Again Livia gave her small laugh, a laugh that send a shiver down Snape's spine. "What do you think, Severus?" Suddenly her gaze turned hard.

"Revenge for Voldemort's death."

"Don't say his name," she hissed. "You are a filthy traitor. I should have known right from the start that noting good could come from such a low half-blood."

"If you want your revenge, take it," Snape said, his heart beating fast but his voice level. "You don't need the girl for it."

Livia looked down on Hermione. "Oh, I think I need her very much. After all she brought you here." She turned back to face Snape, giving him a calculating look. "You know, you nearly fooled me that day when you pushed her away. I was watching, of course, and it was very convincing. Hermione certainly believed it. And I was wondering, would you really hurt her so much if you cared for her? Or because you cared for her? As I said, you nearly fooled me. But then I thought he fooled the Death Eaters for so long. He fooled even the Dark Lord. And then I detected the spells you had put on her room. Well, I thought, there must be more to this. Perhaps our lonely, cold, snarling Severus has finally found someone to touch his timid heart…" She stared at him with a scrutinizing look but Snape met her gaze with a dispassionate expression. "Anyway," she went on, "I thought I'd give it a try, and here you are."

"You are mistaken," Snape said, trying very hard to keep his face and voice emotionless. "I just didn't want Hermione to get hurt because of me.

"Indeed." Livia gave him an appraising look. "Well, she certainly loves you."

Snape felt as if the floor had dropped from under him. Quickly he tried to compose his face, but Livia laughed out loud in surprised pleasure.

"And it seems you didn't even know! How brilliant. How tragic. Oh Severus, I would pity you if I didn't hate you so much."

_Don't listen to her_, a voice in Snape's mind told him. _She's just trying to manipulate you, to throw you off guard, to use your feelings for Hermione. _Snape stared at the triumphant face of the woman in front of him, trying to get his whirling mind under control again. There was no use wondering if she was right or not, he had to get out of here alive, and even more important, he had to get Hermione out. Then there would be time for wondering.

"What did you do to her?"

"Oh, nothing much. She's alive, if you mean that. As alive as I was after Bellatrix cursed me."

Snape's eyes bored into hers. "What does that mean?"

"You all thought I was dead. And so did my brother. Luckily he checked my vitals once more before burying me. And he found some signs of life, if very weak. He couldn't revive me, though. He should have gone to the Dark Lord and asked him for help. But he was angry about his…reaction." Suddenly there was a flicker of pain in her eyes, but it vanished immediately. "And he was afraid that Bellatrix would try to finish what she had begun. So he took me away from Britain, to South America. We have family there. And there he tried to bring me back. It took him 23 years…" Her voice trailed off but she caught herself again quickly. "Well, finally he managed it. As soon as I was back I tried to find out what had happened. And guess what I learned," she said, her voice suddenly cold and full of hatred. "That my lord had been dead, truly dead, for four years, brought down by Dumbledore and a little boy and his friends – and by you, Severus Snape, the greatest traitor of all."

"And so you went back to take your revenge."

"Yes. Unfortunately our monetary circumstances were rather reduced by then, and I also needed some time to get the necessary information and to get in touch with people." Suddenly Livia chuckled. "You wouldn't believe it but Xeno Lovegood has been invaluable to me. '_Woman comes back from the dead after 23 years_.' – He printed my story in his rag, gave me a bit of money and lots of information. On you, for example. On your supposed death and some alleged sightings of you in Diagon Alley and other places. He knows a lot if you get past the rubbish he often talks. Of course he had no idea who I really was."

Snape made a mental note to tell Dumbledore to have a serious word with Xeno if he should ever get out of this. "And so you found me with his help?"

"Yes. He knew of two sightings of you in Stratford, in two successive years but always on the same weekend. So I went there the following year. And not only did I see you, but you were not alone. You were there with a little friend, famous Hermione Granger, of all people, the last surviving member of the Golden Trio."

"I see. And since you couldn't follow me, I guess you followed Hermione from that day on." Suddenly a thought hit Snape. "Arminius Armitage – did you kill him? Because he had helped the ministry?"

Livia chuckled. "Oh yes. It was by coincidence that I bumped into Gerold Wilson. I killed him, brewed some Polyjuice Potion, and everyone thought that he had killed Arminius."

Snape stared at the woman in front of him whose face was lit by a triumphant smile. Suddenly there it was again, the beauty he remembered. He felt sick with worry but he had to keep her talking. She had always liked to be the centre of attention. As long as she talked, she wouldn't kill him. Or Hermione.

"So what did you do to Hermione?"

"She's were I was, all those years. It's a…very special place." For a few seconds her eyes had a far-away look. Then she blinked and focused on Snape again. "Even though I'm glad to be back I found it a rather handy place. Sometimes I still go there."

"Can you get her out of it?"

"Of course, but I think I won't just yet. But I could get you to her, if you want to."

There was a calculating look in her eyes and Snape didn't know what answer would be best. He threw one look at Hermione's still form, then said, "take me to her."

"Very well. Put your wand down."

Reluctantly Snape let go of his wand. Now he truly was in her power. Livia mumbled a spell and the wand swished into her hands, obviously able to cross the barrier in a way Snape couldn't. Then she performed another spell and suddenly everything around him went pitch-black.

* * *

_So finally the mysterious enemy has shown her face - hope you like it!_


	33. A voice in the dark

**A voice in the dark**

Hermione was singing. Not really singing, since obviously she couldn't produce any genuine sound in this strange place, but after she had gone through mathematical and potions formulas, all the spells she remembered and even the historic dates from Professor Binn's class, she had arrived at singing songs to keep her sanity – and to avoid losing body parts. And Hermione had found that her knowledge of lyrics was abysmal. The chorus was usually fine, but for the rest she was often thrown back to 'la la la' or something similar.

She had finally run out of everything except Christmas songs and was wondering how long it would be until she'd have to start with mathematical formulas again. It was strenuous not to let her concentration slip, but listening to her voice, even if she knew that it was only in her mind, held the panic at bay.

Suddenly Hermione stopped. Had she just heard someone call her name? She listened hard, wondering if she was finally going insane. But there it was again, like a ripple through the darkness around her.

Her pulse quickened. "I am here!" she shouted, or thought, or whatever it was she did at this strange place. "I am here!"

There was utter silence again, then, after what seemed like an eternity of tense waiting, Hermione once more heard her name, more clearly now, or so it appeared to her.

"Here! I am here!"

And suddenly there was something beside her. The darkness was still impenetrable, but she could feel a presence next to her.

"Hermione, is that you?"

"Yes, it's me!" she cried out, nearly overwhelmed with happiness. Then suddenly it struck her. That voice. It sounded like Snape. "Severus… is that you?"

Her voice was full of disbelief and questions, but he just said "Yes, it's me." A few moments later she felt him touch her very lightly. He found her right hand, took it and pressed it firmly.

Hermione's mind was whirling. What was he doing here after everything that had happened in September? How had he come to this strange place? What did all of this mean? "I am glad you are here," she said, distracted. "You have to be careful. If you don't concentrate your body dissolves."

"Good to know," he said, and hearing his wry tone made her so happy she just wanted to reach out and hug him.

"What is this place? And how come you are here?"

"We are in trouble, Hermione," he said, his voice suddenly very serious. "You have been abducted by a very dangerous woman. Livia Chatswold. I mentioned her once."

The name rang a bell. "Is it the woman who was killed by Bellatrix? I thought she was dead."

"So did I, but she's not. It seems she was in a kind of coma and spent 23 years in this…place."

"23 years!" Hermione shivered.

"Yes. She wants to take revenge on me for my betrayal of Voldemort. Livia was his most loyal follower before she…disappeared. She is very powerful and intelligent and absolutely ruthless." Snape paused and even though Hermione couldn't see his face she realized how worried he was. "I came looking for you and she sent me to this place. And to be honest I have no idea how we can get out of this. And even if we do, how we can get away from her."

Hermione pressed his hand encouragingly. At the moment she didn't much care for whatever dark witch was out there. It was just so good to have someone next to her, even if it was Snape and she had no idea what she should think or feel about his sudden appearance. "We'll find a way. But why am I here?"

He seemed to hesitate. "Because of me, I'm afraid. Livia thought that she'd get at me via you. That I'd come looking for you if she abducted you."

"Oh… And you did." There were so many questions hanging between them and Snape was glad that she couldn't see his face. This place was terrible. He shuddered to think that Livia had been here for 23 years. How had she kept her sanity? Probably she hadn't, and that would explain a lot of things.

"I am sorry," he suddenly said. "It's because of me that you're in this terrible place."

Again Hermione pressed his hand. "You needn't." She paused, then went on tentatively. "It's rather egotistic, but I'm so glad you're here." He felt her shudder. "It was not pleasant, being alone in here."

"I can imagine that. I heard you singing. Christmas carols."

She laughed but it sounded shaky. "Yes. To keep sane. I even recited the dates of the Goblin Rebellions. Professor Binns would be proud of me."

"He would."

"I thought I was losing myself," she went on. "I was afraid I was stuck here for the rest of my life. That no one would come for me and I would go crazy eventually…" Hermione trailed off and there was a strange silence. "But perhaps I _am_ crazy," she suddenly said slowly, suspicion and terror in her voice. "Perhaps you are nothing more than a figment of my imagination, a projection of my fear and loneliness."

He felt her shiver next to him. "Hermione, of course I'm real," Snape said in a soothing tone, trying to calm her down.

"No," she whispered. "You can't be. You wouldn't come for me, not after what happened at your house. And even if you'd come looking for me, how would you know I was missing in the first place? And how would you find me? No, this is just a hallucination." And slowly she let go of his hand.

Snape felt a strange mixture of guilt and fear and tenderness. "Don't let go, Hermione," he said urgently, reaching out for her hand but realizing that he couldn't find it. He still felt her presence nearby, but it was getting less and less clear. Panic gripped him. He couldn't lose her, couldn't let her draw away from him and get lost in doubts and fear. Snape reached out with both hands and, after a few moments of heart stopping search, suddenly touched Hermione. He quickly drew her close, holding her pressed towards him in an awkward embrace and, after a second of hesitation, started stroking her hair very lightly. "I am real," he whispered. "And everything will be all right."

She tensed and for a terrible moment Snape thought she'd push him away. But then Hermione relaxed and rested her head just below his chin. His heart was hammering wildly and he had no idea if Hermione noticed it. It felt so good to hold her, to feel her near him. But she had questions, dangerous questions, and he didn't want to answer them. Didn't really know what to think and feel. _We have to get out of this first, _he told himself,_ then there will be time to think about this._

"Even if you're not real I don't really care," she mumbled. "I'm so glad you're here. I'm sorry I'm so maudlin."

"You needn't be. Being in this place all on your own would get to everyone."

"How long have I been gone?"

"About half a day."

Hermione raised her head. "But how did you know? I was in Rome, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were," Snape replied, thinking fast how to explain to her that he had kept watch over her all the time. She wouldn't like it. And she would suspect that he had pushed her away not because he loathed her, but wanted to keep her out of harm's way. She would be furious. "Hermione, actually…"

All of a sudden there was a blinding stroke of light. When it had vanished, Hermione found herself lying on a sofa in a bare room. Her head hurt like mad, and she was very thirsty. At the other side of the room she saw Snape lying on the floor. He stirred slowly and got up, staring at her. Hermione stood up and tried to walk towards him, but was held back by an invisible barrier. A quiet laughter made her turn around quickly and she saw two people standing in the doorway next to the sofa. An elderly, thin man she had never seen before, who looked nervous and had his wand pointed at her. And a woman. Hermione's eyes widened with confusion.

"Mary? What are you doing here?"

The porter looked at her with a very strange expression in her eyes, an expression Hermione couldn't interpret until finally, unbelievingly, she realized that it was disdain.

"Hello Hermione," Mary said in a voice that was so unlike Mary's that Hermione wouldn't have recognized it.

"You know her?" Snape looked from Mary to Hermione, his face very tense.

The elder woman laughed unpleasantly. "Oh yes," she sneered, "I know your little Mudblood very well. Such a nice girl, always friendly and helpful. And always glad for someone who listens to her troubles with her male friends…"

Realization hit Hermione. "You are Livia Chatswold?"

"I am indeed."

Hermione's mind was reeling, her old image of Mary fighting with this new reality. How could she have been so deceived? "Did you harm Sam?" she asked, her voice very hard now.

"No, luv," Flavia answered in a parody of the tone she had used as Mary. "I had nothing to do with his heart attack. But it gave me the perfect chance to keep an eye on you. And on Severus."

Suddenly things fell into place. "So you poisoned Severus."

"I did indeed. A shame I couldn't see how the potion worked."

"And you made me go to Rome," Hermione went on slowly.

"I did. I didn't want to make it too easy for Severus."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "But how did you know he'd come for me?"

Livia smiled. "I think you should ask him that question."

Hermione turned towards Snape but he was staring at Livia, ignoring her completely. "How did you get into my house?" he asked sharply.

Livia smiled broadly. "Oh that was easy. Kind of disappointing, really, I had thought it would be harder. I tailed you and Hermione most of the times you met in London. I have a rather good invisibility cloak. One time you were carrying a large briefcase and I was able to touch it just before you disapparated. That brought me straight to your house, and once I had been there I had ways and means of finding it again. And of observing it, of course."

Snape met her triumphant gaze, trying hard not to show his frustration and fear. He wouldn't give her the pleasure of seeing how much she had got to him. "What do you want?" he asked coldly.

"But you know what I want, Severus," Livia said in a fake sugary tone.

"Revenge, I know. But why?" Snape asked slowly, holding her gaze. "Voldemort never cared for you. Ask Constantine. When we thought that Bellatrix had killed you he did nothing to punish her. Nothing at all."

Flavia's face twisted with fury at his words. "Crucio!" she spat.

Snape fell down to his knees, clenching his teeth, his body twitching, but he didn't utter a sound. Hermione gasped and stared at him in shock, but when she tried to rush towards him the barrier pushed her back. After what seemed like eternity Flavia lowered her wand.

"You are strong, Severus," she stated in a cold tone. "Strong and proud. And I guess you've had some…practice…with this over the years."

Snape raised his head, his face tense with pain. "Why do you want to avenge him?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Because she loves him," Hermione suddenly said.

Flavia jerked around, staring at her.

"He was your anchor, wasn't he?" Hermione asked, facing her gaze. "The thought of him, and your love for him, was what kept you sane in…that place."

The elder woman stared at her for a few seconds. "You are indeed clever, Mudblood," she eventually said.

"But when you finally woke up he was gone," Hermione went on slowly. "And everything had changed."

"It had indeed."

"Killing Severus won't bring him back," Hermione stated quietly.

"No." Suddenly there was great pain in the elder woman's face. "But it will make me happy."

* * *

_Anyone surprised ;-)?_

_Great thanks to my Beta C.E. Belvedier__, and to all of you for following this story._


	34. At the end of the day

**At the end of the day**

"Then do it," Snape growled. He had got up again, swaying slightly but finally standing upright, his body rigid and his face composed. "You want to kill me. Fine. But let Hermione go, she has nothing to do with this."

"On the contrary," Livia said, calm again. "She's one of the Golden Trio, isn't she? Not a traitor like yourself, but certainly worth my revenge. And I know that your life means hardly anything to you. Otherwise you wouldn't have been able to do the things you've done. But her life, it matters to you…" She looked at him, an expression of hunger and excitement on her face. "And there is something else I want."

Snape stared at the elder woman, trying to divine how best to handle her. But he had to admit that he really didn't know. "What is it?"

"The money. The gold the Dark Lord had put away. Where is it?"

Disbelieving laugher broke out of Snape. "That's what this is all about? Money?"

Livia's eyes narrowed. "Oh no, it's still about you being a filthy traitor. But if anyone has a claim to this money, it's me."

Snape snorted. "You have about as much right to it as I had. But I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. I kept some for myself, but it's mostly spent. And the rest I reported to the ministry via Dumbledore. It's gone."

She stared at him very hard. "You wouldn't lie to me, Severus, would you?" Suddenly she turned towards Hermione and quietly said "Crucio."

Hermione gasped, first in surprise, then, as the curse hit her, in pain. _I won't cry!_ Was the last conscious thought she had before everything became a blur of unbearable pain.

Snape stared at her helplessly as she fell to her knees. He saw how she bit her lower lip to keep herself from crying out, how her body writhed on the floor. It was terrible to look at, but she didn't make a sound.

"I've told you the truth," he said in a shaking voice, unable to turn his eyes away from Hermione. "There is no money left, apart from some I have. You can take it if you want."

Livia didn't react but still held Hermione under the curse.

"Haven't you heard?" Snape cried out.

"Oh, I've heard well enough," the elder woman said in a strangely detached and friendly tone. "It seems your young friend is quite proud, too. What do you think? How long will it take until she cries out with pain?"

Livia gave Snape a piercing look and he realized that she was only waiting for him to lose his composure, to break down. He felt sick with helplessness but there was nothing he could do, nothing at all. Snape threw a quick glance to Constantine, but he was looking at Hermione as if she was something filthy. No, he wouldn't find any help there.

Suddenly Livia took her wand down. Hermione lay still for many seconds. Only slowly did the dark haze of pain clear from her mind. When it had gone she found that every cell of her body hurt with the dull pain she remembered so vividly from that time when she had been tortured by Bellatrix. Her breath was ragged and she was so afraid she could hardly think straight. But she hadn't survived so much to break down now in front of Voldemort's crazy ex-girlfriend. No, she hadn't broken when Bellatrix had tortured her and she wouldn't break now. Ron and Harry would be proud of her.

Slowly and very gingerly Hermione raised her head. She was shaking all over her body, but her face was set and her eyes were blazing. There were a few drops of blood running down from where she had bit her lip.

"Why don't you just kill us," she panted, meeting Livia's gaze unflinchingly. "Get it over with. Have your revenge."

"Oh no, luv," Livia said amiably. "That wouldn't be enough." She made a show of deliberating. "I could send you back to the void," she said slowly. "This time forever. How would you like that?"

A cold hand was gripping Hermione's heart. Her face was very white now. But she wouldn't beg, she never would.

"Or I could do what my good old friend Bellatrix did to the Longbottoms," Livia went on. "I have to say, she _had_ a way of handling people. Let's see how long it takes until you beg. Or until you go insane." She raised her hand again. "Crucio!"

Snape stared in horror as Livia's curse hit Hermione and she broke down on the floor. "No," he shouted, "stop it! Stop it!" But Livia didn't take any heed of him, looking down on the writhing Hermione with a light smile on her face.

Snape was shaking hard. Once more he threw himself against the barrier, but was only pushed back. Hermione had been quiet at first, but after a few minutes she screamed out in pain, her voice hitting him like a knife.

"What do you want?" he cried out, willing Livia to look away from Hermione and face him. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

Finally she turned towards him but didn't let go of Hermione. "But this is exactly what I want, Severus," she said softly. Her eyes were bright with happiness. "Exactly what I want."

Snape stared at her in horror. He didn't know how long it lasted, how long Hermione writhed on the floor, her screams increasingly unhuman. But suddenly she fell silent and didn't move anymore.

Even then Livia didn't lower her wand for some time. Only when there were no life signs whatsoever from Hermione did she finally stop. After looking down on her for a few seconds, Livia cast a spell to lift the barrier around Hermione, then cautiously stepped closer and touched her with her foot. Hermione didn't move.

Livia bent to check on Hermione's vitals. Snape stared at the elder witch, his heart hammering and his mind full of hatred and despair and pain. Suddenly he noticed that his face was wet.

"She's still alive," Livia pronounced in a matter of fact way.

Snape felt relief flood through him. It was only now that he noticed that Constantine was no longer in the room. Suddenly the door opened and he entered and immediately started to whisper to Livia.

Her face turned stony. "It seems someone is looking for you," she snarled. "We'll have to cut this short." She stared hard at Snape, then suddenly said, "I'll make you a very good offer. If you accept it, your Mudblood will live. If she survives this. If not, I'll kill her right now."

"What's your offer?" Snape asked, his voice hoarse.

Livia nodded towards Constantine who left the room again. Then she said with a large smile. "You'll drink the Morituri Potion."

Snape's heart skipped a beat. "I see," he said slowly. "So it will sooth your sense of revenge to know that I will die a slow and painful death?"

"Oh yes, it will. I would have preferred some other way, but as it is…"

He stared at her, his thoughts racing. "And if I take it you'll let Hermione alone? Now and in the future?"

"Yes. I promise."

Snape didn't trust her promise, but he didn't have much of a choice, really. He looked at Hermione who was still unconscious. Or perhaps she was already dead and this was one of Livia's cruel jokes? He didn't know, but if there was just a tiny chance that he could get Hermione out of this alive, he had to take it.

Suddenly his mind was absolutely clear. He didn't want to die, he realized that now. There had been times when death would have seemed like salvation to him, but those times were gone. But he knew with absolute clarity that he couldn't let Hermione die. It was because of him that she was here. She had always been good to him, had given him her trust and affection. And the only thing that really mattered now was to make sure that she would live.

"I will drink the potion," he said.

"Very well." Livia's mouth twisted into a disdainful smile. "How romantic."

The door opened and Constantine came in again, carrying a glass filled with a pale liquid. He put it down next to Snape and then stepped away again, raising his wand.

"Don't try anything," Livia said. "If you make as much as a move towards us, I'll kill first you and then her."

Snape nodded. They were both covering him from different corners of the room and were too far away for him to overwhelm them. No, there was nothing he could do.

Livia cast the spell to lower the barrier and Snape bowed down and took up the glass. The potion smelt not unpleasant, and a part of his brain was thinking of the recipe and how once, many years ago, he had had to brew it for Voldemort. He had seen how the victim had died. It had not been pleasant.

Snape met Livia's gaze unflinchingly, then raised the glass and downed the potion in one long draught. It had a fruity, pleasing taste. _How strange that death tastes so sweet_, he thought.

Livia's hungry eyes were riveted on his face. "Well, it's good-bye then, Severus," she said curtly. "Enjoy the rest of your life."

And without another word she and her brother disapparated.

Snape stood rooted to the spot, swaying slightly. The effect of the potion wouldn't set in immediately and he had to get out of here before it did. Had to get Hermione to safety.

He walked towards her, his heart beating fast with fear. But when he knelt down and felt at her throat he found a pulse, very low, but steady. A hoarse sob escaped him and he stared down on her for a few seconds. She would live. Merlin only knew if her mind had suffered, but at least she would live. He got up again and left the room, looking for his wand. He found it lying on a table in the next room, took it, went back to Hermione, gathered her up in his arms and disapparated to her rooms in Cambridge.

* * *

_As always thanks to those who give me their feedback, it's highly appreciated. And of course great thanks to my Beta __C.E. Belvedier._


	35. What friends are for

**What friends are for**

After Snape had apparated to Hermione's rooms in Cambridge he placed her on her bed carefully. A quick glance at her alarm clock told him that it was nearly 7 p.m. It seemed that he'd been in the void much longer than he had imagined. Darkness had descended outside and a strong wind was rattling the windows. Turning back to Hermione again, he performed a number of spells to sooth the effects of the Cruciatus curse.

She was still unconscious but Snape was glad for it. She'd have too many questions, questions he didn't have the time to answer anymore. He needed to go now, disappear before she woke up and started wondering about what had happened. And before the poison started working. Snape hardly felt it yet, only from time to time there was a short, sharp pain in his chest. But he knew that it wouldn't be long until it would set in with its full power.

She mustn't find out what had happened. Especially mustn't know that he had taken the poison to save her. He knew Hermione, she'd feel guilty for the rest of her life and he didn't want that. And so he had to leave before she woke up and realized that anything was wrong.

And yet Snape lingered, looking down on the unconscious young woman. He scolded himself for this weakness and still he didn't leave.

Hermione opened her eyes slowly. Her whole body hurt like mad and for a moment she had no idea where she was or what had happened. Then she saw Snape who was looking down on her in a somewhat alarmed manner.

Suddenly she remembered. She jerked up and winced with the pain that caused her.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, her voice hoarse.

"Everything is all right," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Terrible," she replied, trying to get off her bed but stopping when the movement brought new pain.

Snape drew his wand and performed a quick succession of spells, each one lessening the pain a bit more. It didn't disappear completely but it was bearable.

"Thank you," Hermione said, leaning her aching back against the headboard and looking up at him with a grateful smile.

"I'm sorry I couldn't prevent Livia from hurting you," Snape retorted in a matter-of-fact tone.

Hermione tried to catch his eyes but he was evading her gaze. There was so much she didn't understand. "What happened?" She asked again. "Last thing I remember Livia was performing the Cruciatus on me," she shivered. "And then everything went blank."

"I overpowered her," Snape stated. Finally he was meeting her eyes, but his expression was guarded. "And as you can see I was able to escape."

"But how did you get out of the barrier?" Hermione furrowed her brow. "And what happened to her? Did you…kill her?"

"Livia won't harm you again."

Hermione looked up at him, not knowing what to make of that. But it seemed that this was all the information he would give her, at least for the moment.

"Thank you," she said softly. "You saved my life. Again."

Snape looked at her in a strangely distanced way. "Don't worry about that. I need to leave now."

"Wait," Hermione exclaimed, startled. "You can't just go. I mean I have lots of questions. How did you know where I was? How did you even know I was in trouble?"

Hermione thought that Snape looked a bit shifty. "I was informed that you might be in danger."

"By whom? I was in Rome and no one knew that anything had happened."

Snape looked decidedly uncomfortable now. "Some spells were placed upon you, spells which would react if you got into trouble."

"What?!" Hermione felt confused. "By whom?"

"By me." He turned away from her. "I need to go now."

Hermione got up from the bed, ignoring the pain that caused her. "Wait – you placed spells on me? Without telling me?"

He turned back to face her, his expression stony.

Hermione stood only one step away from him. "Do you mean to say you knew that would happen?" she asked, an irritated edge in her voice. "That you knew I was in danger and you didn't tell me about it?"

He met her angry gaze unflinchingly. "I suspected that there was a possibility, yes."

Hermione was so taken aback by his revelation and the calm way he stated it, she didn't know what to say right away. "Why didn't you tell me?" she finally asked, her eyes boring into his.

"Oh I did, remember?" He replied composedly. "I told you you could be in danger because of your association with me. But you wouldn't listen. And I didn't want you to get more involved than you already were. This wasn't your fight."

Hermione was feeling far from calm. "And so you just kept me ignorant? How could you do that?!" she asked, her voice rising with anger. "You had no right to make this decision for me. I'm no longer a child, and I'm certainly able to take care of myself."

He only looked at her with a strange, distanced expression which irritated her even more. Suddenly an idea crossed her mind. "Wait. Was that the reason why you threw me out in September? Why you were so cruel to me? Because you thought I was in danger due to my association with you, and you wanted to keep me away?"

Snape's mask slipped for a second, but then his face turned to stone again. "I thought it the best way to keep you safe. If I hadn't made you…leave…, you'd have acted like a true Gryffindor and done something stupid to help me."

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. She was silent for a few moments, her mind reeling with what she had just found out.

"Do you have any idea how much you hurt me?" she finally asked, angry at the pain in her voice and yet not able to hide it. "How it felt when you pushed me away? I am your _friend_, Severus. That's what friends are for. They help each other. They certainly don't lie to each other, hurt each other..."

Hermione's voice trailed off and she stared at him, her breathing laborious with anguished fury, but his face was still absolutely dispassionate.

"This isn't about me being Gryffindor, is it?" She eventually went on, her words harsh with emotion. "It's about your fear that any kind of human relationship, any sorts of...feelings...for someone could make you vulnerable."

Hermione stopped. Tears had come into her eyes and she blinked them away furiously. She wouldn't cry in front of him. "Of course I would have tried to help you," she finally said laboriously. "But it seems you just don't want that." The anger she had felt at his revelation was abating and left only an aching emptiness.

Snape had half turned away and his hair had fallen to cover his face. "I need to go now," he said flatly.

Hermione felt very weary. "Will I see you again?"

He turned back to face her. There was something in his face now, but she couldn't interpret it. "I don't think so," he replied. "As you have just noticed, I am not good with friends."

Hermione felt a sudden stab. But she certainly wouldn't start begging. "Well, in that case, thank you. For saving my life. Again."

Snape nodded and raised his wand.

"Wait!" Hermione called out. What was happening here? She didn't want him to go, not like this and after all that had happened. Why was he so cold? Hadn't he come for her, comforted her in that terrible void? But how could she break through to him, get past his dispassionate shell? She stared at Snape, at his rigid body and tense, guarded face, feeling frustration and aching tenderness. And suddenly she knew what she had to do.

"Before you go there's something I have to tell you." Hermione paused for a moment, her heart beating fast. But if this truly was the last time she would be seeing him it was now or never. She raised her chin in defiance, her eyes fixed on his face. "I don't remember everything that happened in Stratford. But I remember clearly that when I kissed you, I didn't do it because I was drunk." She paused, but Snape's expression had only grown stonier. "And I certainly didn't do it because I thought you were Ron. Or Thomas. Or anyone else. I did it because I wanted to."

When she stopped it seemed to her that the world was very still, as if it was holding its breath. She met his gaze but there was no reaction in his face.

"I see," Snape said quietly. "I really need to go now."

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "Is that all you have to say?" she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Suddenly there was a deep sadness in his eyes. "Hermione, I can't..." he said, then abruptly his face was contorted with what she first thought was anger, but quickly realized was pain. Snape doubled over and clutched at his heart.

"Severus?" Hermione was rooted to the spot for a second, then rushed towards him. He stood bent over in a cramped position, breathing laboriously, his right hand pressed to his breast. When he looked up Hermione was shocked by the pain in his eyes which for once was not hidden. He tried to straighten up but staggered. Hermione swiftly reached out and held his forearms to prevent him from falling.

"What's happening?" she asked anxiously. "You need to sit down. Do you want some water?"

Snape shook his head in a jerking movement. After a while his tense body relaxed and he straightened up again, lifted his head and met Hermione's worried eyes. He stood more securely now but didn't let go of her forearms. "No, I'm all right. I just need to get home." His voice still sounded hoarse, but the ghostly white was leaving his face. "This is just a side effect of some of the spells Livia performed on me. There are certain potions I need to take, then I'll be all right again."

Hermione looked at him doubtfully. "Let me come with you. You're in no state to be on your own."

A small smile flitted across his tense face. "Believe me, I can handle this. I have survived much worse."

Hermione held his gaze and he returned it unflinchingly. Finally she nodded. "If you insist. I…I am sorry I kept you so long."

"Don't worry. I am glad we talked." His dark eyes were riveted on her face, as if he wanted to commit it to memory. Suddenly he broke the eye contact and looked down on their hands which were still clutching each others forearms. He released his grip and only then did she notice how tight it had been.

"Will you let me know that you're all right?" Hermione asked. "Please, I would worry otherwise."

He nodded reluctantly. "I'll send Rose."

"Thank you."

Snape stood close to her for a few more moments, looking at her as if he was debating with himself if he should add something. "Goodbye," he finally said.

"Goodbye, Severus," Hermione replied, and he stepped back and disapparated.

&&&&&

_Thanks for all the feedback! Your comments make my day. _

_And of course special thanks to my loyal Beta __C.E. Belvedier (who will soon know if Snape's going to die or not ;-))._


	36. Waiting for death

**Waiting for death**

As soon as Snape apparated to his laboratory he sank down on a chair, breathing hard. It was unfortunate that she had seen him like that. Unfortunate that she had become suspicious. But he wasn't sorry that they had talked one last time, although it had been painful. He had known that she wouldn't understand his reasons for keeping her in the dark. But at least he had had the chance to say goodbye.

After a few minutes Snape felt strong enough again to get up, go to a large cupboard and take out a few potions. He would not be able to produce an antidote to the poison, but at least there were some potions that would make it a bit easier for him.

When he had finished, he went to his study. Dumbledore was pacing in his portrait but stopped as soon as he saw Snape.

"Severus! What happened? Did you find her?"

Snape nodded. "Yes. I brought Hermione back to Cambridge. She's all right. It was Livia Chatswold"

Dumbledore looked astonished. "Livia! Tell me about it."

Snape told him everything up until Livia's torturing Hermione with the Cruciatus.

"And what happened then?" Dumbledore asked. "How did you escape?"

Snape met the elder man's gaze unflinchingly. "There was nothing I could do. I couldn't allow her to kill Hermione. And then Livia made me an offer."

Dumbledore was alarmed. "What kind of offer?"

"Livia wanted revenge. But then she was disturbed. Did you somehow manage to track Hermione or me?"

"Not yet, but we were close. When you didn't return from Rome I sent Miss Weasley and Arthur after you. They found traces of rather unusual magic in Miss Granger's hotel room, and my research showed that similar spells had been performed somewhere in Liverpool a bit later. So I sent the members of the Order to search there for her. I guess I can call them back now."

"You can. Livia and her brother are gone. Had I known you were close to finding us..." But no, they probably wouldn't have arrived on time and Livia would have killed Hermione nevertheless. What he had done had been the only way to save her and he didn't regret it.

Snape faced Dumbledore's curious gaze. "Livia proposed a deal to me. She would let Hermione live and not harm her in the future. If I drank the Morituri Potion."

Dumbledore's eyes widened, then his face grew very sad. "My poor boy," he said softly.

Snape shook his head. "Don't worry about me. There was no other way, I don't regret it.

Dumbledore looked at him hard. "And Livia is gone?"

"Yes. It will be hard to trace her unless she reveals herself again."

The elder wizard sighed. "I am very sorry, Severus. How long do you have?"

"I'm not sure. Two hours, perhaps a bit more."

"Is there anything I can do?"

A bitter smile tucked at Snape's mouth. "Not really. I have a few potions which will make it easier."

"Do you want me to stay?"

There was a sudden lump in Snape's throat. "You mean because I was there when you died?" he said gruffly.

Dumbledore just looked at him in the searching and yet benign way he had always looked at the boy Severus. "No. I just think nobody should die alone."

Snape felt relief and only then realized how much he had feared to be on his own. "Yes, I'd like you to stay. Thank you."

Dumbledore smiled, but very sadly. "What about Hermione? Does she know?"

Snape shook his head vehemently. "No, she doesn't. And she must never know. She'd feel guilty and I don't want that. Promise me you won't tell her."

Dumbledore looked reluctant but finally nodded. "I won't, if you don't want that. But what shall I say to her when you are dead?"

Snape shrugged. "Wait a few weeks and then tell her that there was an accident in the laboratory. I'm leaving everything to her, she can decide what to do with the house and all the other things."

"I see." The elder wizard gave him a scrutinizing look. "Have you told her how you feel?" he asked gently.

Snape looked away, down on his hands. Then returned his gaze to meet Dumbledore's eyes. Those penetrating eyes that had seen right through him ever since he had been a child. The time for pretence was finally over. "What use would there be?" he said quietly. "No, it'd only give her pain. You can tell her I am sorry that I hurt her when I wanted to keep her safe from Livia. But nothing else."

"If you wish," Dumbledore sighed. "You know, as strange as that sounds, I really think you are the most selfless person I know."

Snape laughed out loud, but his laughter suddenly turned into a choking sound as a new spasm grasped him. Shaking, he reached for a phial nearby and downed the potion, but it was several minutes till the pain abated.

Dumbledore looked down on him worriedly.

"I'm afraid it won't be a nice sight," Snape said.

The elder man shook his head. "Don't worry. I just wished there was something I could do."

"There isn't. But I'm glad you're staying."

Dumbledore gazed at him with a sad smile on his face.

"We've come a long way, Severus. Haven't we?"

Snape gave a weak laugh. "We certainly have." He took another potion, waited a few minutes until he felt its effects and then straightened up. "Do I look presentable?"

"As much as you ever will, Severus."

"Then I'll call Rose. I don't want her to be here when it happens. When it's over, will you tell her that I have always been very satisfied with her service? And that she now is bound to Hermione, but must never tell her what has happened here tonight?"

Dumbledore nodded and Snape called the house-elf.

She looked at him with a worried expression on her face, as if she were sensing that something was not right.

"Rose, go to Miss Granger and tell her that I am well. And then go to Loch Tully. On its southern bank there is a small stone circle where you will find a patch of star shaped white flowers. They lose a petal every hour all throughout the night. Stay there until the sun rises and gather the fallen petals of ten flowers for me."

Rose nodded reluctantly, her face still worried. "Yes, master. Is there anything else?"

"No. Go now."

"Yes master."

She disapparated and Snape walked to his favourite chair and gingerly sat down on it.

"I will leave you for a short while," Dumbledore said. "I have to try and contact Arthur and the others and tell them that Miss Granger is safe. But I will return as soon as possible."

Snape nodded and watched Dumbledore walk out of his picture. The house was very still. _What do you do with the last hours of your life?_ He thought, his eyes looking around his study, seeing it as if it were for the first time. He would have to get more painkilling potions soon. But not so much that his mind would be muddled. He wanted to meet death with a clear head.

Was it really less than a day that Hermione's disappearance had jerked him out of his sleep? How strange. He wouldn't have thought that he'd die today.

Snape felt great sadness. After all the pretence and denying he finally admitted to himself that there might have been another life for him. She had wanted to kiss him… For a few moments he allowed his mind to ponder on that memory. He had been happy when Hermione had kissed him. Shocked and confused, but also, for a moment, truly happy. And even after that, when he had fought with his feelings, he had always been happy in her presence. But there was no use tormenting himself with what might have been. Not now. And greater than the sadness inside him was the joy that he had kept her safe. That she would live.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed it!_

_I'm off on holidays for two weeks, but I promise I'll update as soon as I get back. Actually I was debating with myself if I should reveal if Snape's going to make it or not, but my fabulous Beta C.E. Belvedier advised me to let you wait a little longer (quote: "Let them suffer" ;-))._


	37. Blood

**Blood**

After Snape had left, Hermione went to her desk and took out her wand to cast a few more healing spells on herself. She had brought it to Cambridge some weeks ago on an impulse but had not performed any magic with it, still adhering to the decision she had made before leaving Hogwarts.

Now, however, this didn't seem to matter anymore. She performed the spells without really thinking about it, her mind still numbed by everything that had happened.

When she had finished Hermione prepared herself a cup of tea, sat down in her armchair and ate a whole bar of chocolate, being ravenous after having eaten nothing since the evening before.

She didn't stay in the chair for long, however, but soon got up again to hunt through her drawers for some pain killers her father had given her after a very nasty root canal. In spite of Snape's and her own spells her body was still hurting. And there was also the horror of what had happened, of first being imprisoned in that strange place and then being tortured. Right now the memories were numbed by her pain and weariness and Hermione was glad for that, but she knew that they would come back with their full power sooner or later.

Snape had saved her life. Again. Hermione had no idea what to make of it, of his appearance and his behaviour towards her. Perhaps it would make sense when she wasn't so tired and aching and could think straight again.

The sudden sound of someone apparating made her spin around, her heart beating fast. But it was only Rose who looked very worried.

"Mistress," she said and dropped a courtesy. "Master sends me to tell you he is well."

Hermione felt relieved. "I'm glad to hear it."

Rose, however, was looking at her imploringly and there was a slight tremor shaking her body. All of a sudden Hermione had a strange feeling of foreboding. "Tell me, Rose," she asked, "is really everything all right with him?"

"Yeees…" Rose replied slowly, but her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

Hermione stared at her and her pulse quickened. "Something is not right, is it?" She asked. "And your master forbade you to tell me?"

There was a visible fight going on in the elf, but finally she gave a short, jerking nod.

Feeling very cold now, Hermione knelt down next to Rose so her face was level with the elf's. "What is it?" Hermione asked softly. "You know that I am his friend, that I will try to help him."

Suddenly Rose broke into tears and heavy sobs shook her small body. On an impulse Hermione leant forward and embraced her. "Master is going to die," the elf sobbed into Hermione's shoulder. "And he sent Rose away, and there is no one there to help him."

Hermione felt as if her heart had stopped beating. "He is dying?" She asked, her voice brittle. She shook her head. "But that's impossible, why should he be dying, he wasn't harmed…"

"The evil woman made Master drink a potion," the elf replied, pulling away from Hermione and looking at her with tearful eyes. "And he said he will die. He told Master Dumbledore. I was listening, secretly," Rose winced, "I was worried about Master... Master didn't know that I heard everything. And he sent me away." Again she started sobbing.

Hermione stared at her, her mind reeling. "What potion?" she finally asked, grabbing the thought as if it were a lifeline. There were antidotes, surely. Snape couldn't die, he simply couldn't.

"Master called it the Morituri Potion."

"Good lord," Hermione replied hoarsely. Her chest cramped with a painful sob and suddenly she started shaking all over. Her mind, however, was still working, telling her with perverse clarity all she had ever read about the Morituri Potion. That it was a deathly poison which brought a slow and extremely painful death. That there was only one antidote to it, a potion which was simple to brew but which had to include a vital ingredient. A few drops of the blood of the foe who had administered the Morituri Potion.

A few drops of Livia's blood. Hermione stared in front of her. She had no idea where Livia was, had no way of finding her in time. No way of saving Snape.

Leaden despair overwhelmed her. Why had he taken the potion? There was only one explanation. It must have something to do with her, with their escape. Some kind of deal, probably. He was dying for her... And of course he hadn't wanted her to know...

But there had to be a way. She couldn't just let him die, not after what he had done. She had to find Livia, had to get her blood...

Hermione cudgelled her brain, trying to think, to find a solution. She had no idea where they had been held captive, much less if Livia was still there. But perhaps it had been the flat or house in which Livia had lived as Mary? And even if not, perhaps going to her place might provide some clues? It was a desperate hope, but better than just doing nothing and letting Snape die. She just had to find out where Mary was living. Perhaps the warden would know, or at least he could give her the number of someone who knew.

Hermione got up quickly, told Rose to wait for her and hurried out into the corridor and down the stairs. On the second landing she suddenly stopped and a strange cry escaped her lips. She turned swiftly, rushed up to her room again, hurried to her wardrobe and started rummaging in it. After a few seconds she drew out a white jacket.

Hermione stared at it. There was dried blood on it, the blood that Mary – no, Livia had lost when the window had come down on her hand in July. Hermione had wanted to have it cleaned, but had forgotten all about it after her break-up with Thomas later that evening and what had happened in Stratford a few days afterwards.

Livia's blood. It wouldn't be much use for the antidote since it was old and dried up. But she could track Livia with this, at least if the elder witch hadn't thought of taking very elaborate precautions against it. Could track and find her and force Livia to give her some fresh blood.

Quickly Hermione turned to Rose who was watching her with wide eyes. "I think I can help your master," she said and grabbed her wand. She would need it. "Take me to him."

At first Rose looked rather fearful and undecided, but then nodded and held out her hand. Hermione took it and together they disapparated.

They apparated in Snape's living room. He wasn't there and Hermione had the impression that Rose was quite glad that she didn't have to face her master. Hermione told her to wait, then set out to find Snape, checking first the laboratory and his bedroom, but finding both of them empty. Finally she stood in front of the door to his study, clutching the bloodstained jacket, her heart beating fast. She knocked and entered after a second.

Snape was sitting in an armchair, staring at her. His face was ashen.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a hoarse voice. He got out of his chair and drew back a few steps, leaning against the wall. "You shouldn't be here."

"Rose was worried about you," Hermione said softly, a great lump in her throat. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" He had put on his dispassionate mask again, but Hermione saw that there were drops of sweat on his forehead.

"Drink the Morituri Potion." Slowly she came forward until she stood opposite Snape. That close to him she saw how tense his face was, saw the slight tremor of his hands.

He didn't answer, only looked at her. "It was the only way."

Hermione shook her head forcefully. "You have this morbid urge to save my life," she said, her light tone sounding forced in her ears. "We'll have to discuss this later." She paused. "But now I've come to help you."

"There is no help," he said quietly. "You know that."

Hermione held out the jacket. "This is Livia's blood. She hurt herself as Mary once in my presence, some of her blood spilled onto my jacket and I forgot to have it cleaned. I know it's useless for the antidote, but I can track her with it."

Snape's eyes lit up but the spark was gone immediately. "Even if you should find her, you'll never get her blood," he stated, his voice raspy. "It's far too dangerous. I don't want you to go."

"I don't care," Hermione replied, raising her chin and meeting his dark eyes fiercely.

His eyes flashed. "For Merlin's sake, Hermione, I didn't drink the potion so you could get yourself killed!"

"I won't be killed," she said, trying to convey more confidence than she felt.

He gave a short laugh. "Stupid Gryffindor bravado." He seemed to deliberate, then said. "I'll go with you."

"No," Hermione shook her head. "You are in no condition. And you need to brew the potion. Do you think you're up to it?"

He snorted. "Are you trying to insult me? But you should take Rose."

Again Hermione shook her head. "No. You know she's no fighter. She must stay with you, help you with the potion if necessary." She hesitated, then asked quietly. "How long?"

"Until I die?" he replied in a matter-of-fact voice. "I don't know. A little less than two hours, I guess."

Hermione stared at him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Snape shook his head but suddenly his face twisted in pain and he doubled over, gasping for breath. After a second of shock, Hermione looked around and found a glass with some dark liquid standing on the small table next to his armchair. Quickly she got it and held it out to him.

Still breathing hard Snape downed the potion. His hands were shaking and Hermione reached out and grabbed them. She felt aching tenderness and cold despair, just held at bay by her will to believe that this might still end happily.

After some moments he seemed to relax and let go of her hands.

"I'll go now," Hermione said softly.

He gave her a painful smile and suddenly there was so much affection in his eyes that Hermione felt overwhelmed. "I guess I can't dissuade you? Dumbledore should be here very soon, he could get more help."

"No, definitely not. We don't have the time." She drew out her wand, cast a quick spell and suddenly there was a tiny wound at her left wrist, oozing out a few drops of blood. Hermione took a handkerchief from her bag, wiped away the blood and performed another spell which made the wound disappear.

"Here, take that," she said, holding the handkerchief towards Snape. "So Dumbledore can send help after me."

"Very well," he replied and took the handkerchief. "Be careful, will you?" His gaze was intense.

"I will." Hermione stared at Snape and there were hundreds of things to tell him but now was not the time. "Just don't die," she whispered.

He gave her a short nod. "I won't."

Their eyes locked for a few seconds but finally Hermione broke the contact, called for Rose and asked her to take her to her parents' house.

She apparated in her room. For a second she listened carefully, to check if her apparating had been noticed. But everything remained silent. Perhaps her parents had gone out. Whatever it was, Hermione was grateful for it. She just didn't have the time now to explain to her parents why she had shown up, and especially why she was doing magic again. As it was, she had debated with herself if she should even come here at all, but she needed Harry's invisibility cloak if she wanted to have a chance to get at Livia, and it was stashed away in her room.

Hermione sent back Rose, then quickly went to the wardrobe, pulled out the box, opened it and tore out the cloak. Next she took the jacket with Livia's blood on it and performed a highly complex tracking charm. And then she threw the invisibility cloak over herself and disapparated.

* * *

_Sorry for the long delay! But I hope you like the development. As always thanks to my staunch Beta C.E. Belvedier._


	38. A race against time

**A race against time**

When Hermione disapparated her heart was beating hard. She had no idea how close to Livia the spell would take her, so when she apparated she looked around quickly, her wand held high, ready to attack immediately.

She needn't have worried. Hermione found herself in the middle of a triangular shaped small park surrounded by what looked like three long Victorian blocks of terraced houses. Old-fashioned streetlights cast a dim light on the naked trees and shrubs around her. A few people were hurrying past outside the park, their shoulders hunched against the cold wind, and a dog barked not far away from her, but was soon silenced by its owner.

Slowly Hermione relaxed. As soon as the tension lessoned, she felt rather faint. _I should have brought another bar of chocolate_, she thought, annoyed with her weakness, willing her head to clear. After a few seconds she felt better and was able to survey her surroundings. Her heart sank. It seemed that Livia was in one of these block of houses, but there was no way of knowing where she should start searching.

Cursing silently Hermione wrapped the Invisibility Cloak around her tightly. There was a cold feeling in her chest, the fear that time was running out fast, that if she didn't find Livia soon she might be too late.

Perhaps she should call for help? She didn't want to endanger anyone, but if she couldn't find Livia on time Snape would die. Hermione reached a decision. She would send her Patronus to Ginny, telling her to contact Dumbledore who would then take care that the Order would come to her help. Hermione raised her wand and cast the spell – but nothing happened.

She stared at her wand. True, she hadn't done any magic for a long time. Moreover, the Patronus charm was rather complex, and it had taken her some time to master it. But ever since it had worked without any problems. Suddenly Hermione had a very sick feeling in her stomach. Concentrating harder, she cast the spell again. A thin wisp of silver erupted from her wand, but it disappeared immediately, leaving her so faint she nearly staggered.

What was happening here? She had apparated without problems. Was this an aftereffect of the Cruciatus? Or did her exhaustion prevent her from doing more complex magic? She had heard of such things, but had thought that the person affected must be much more exhausted than she was. Hermione looked around, making sure that no one was nearby, then performed a series of lesser spells to check if they worked. They did, but she also felt even more exhausted.

Hermione tried the Patronus one last time, but still no more than faint mist came out of her wand. She was panting hard after that attempt, her head swimming and her mouth dry. Reluctantly she had to face the fact that she wouldn't be able to get help. Even worse, it seemed that for unknown reasons her ability to do magic was effected. She would have to be even more careful when she found Livia.

If she ever found her…

Hermione pushed that thought away quickly. This was not the time to get panicky. Or desperate. Not yet.

For a second she wondered if she should wait until Snape sent Dumbledore for help, but that wouldn't do, it might be too late by then. And so Hermione cast a last scrutinizing look on the houses around her, then swiftly left the small park and went to the block on her right. When she arrived at the long building, its front sporting the typical Victorian iron railings and the cellar entrances to the former kitchen and servants' quarters, she cursed silently. What had originally been a row of upper middle-class terraced houses had been subdivided into flats. She had no idea how many people were living in these three blocks, but it must be a whole lot of them.

Lacking a better idea, Hermione started punching a number of doorbells. After a few moments three doors opened and two women and a man looked out, their faces taking on an annoyed expression when they realized that no one was around. None of them was Livia or her brother. As soon as Hermione noticed this, she went on to push the next few doorbells. And when that didn't bring out the people she was looking for the next and the next. Some doors didn't open and Hermione marked them with an invisible sign. She'd get back to them when she had checked all the other flats.

As the minutes ticked by, Hermione got increasingly nervous. She couldn't press too many doorbells at once, since she had to stay close to the doors to get in quickly if one of them should be the right one. But fifteen minutes had passed already and she had only arrived at the middle of the first block. How long had Snape said he had? Less than two hours? Had that been realistic?

The thought that she was wasting precious time, time she didn't have, drove Hermione nearly mad. And the constant tension was strenuous, even more so since she had had quite enough stress, pain and exhaustion over the last 24 hours.

When over twenty minutes had passed Hermione was suddenly hit by a stabbing pain near her heart. Stifling a surprised cry, she doubled over and clutched convulsively at her chest. Breathing hard, her hand shaking badly, Hermione performed a spell which made the pain go away. Nearly. But where had it come from? Was it an after-effect of the Cruciatus? She remembered that she had suffered similar pains after they had escaped from Malfoy Manor. Only then she had been lying comfortably in Shell Cottage.

Hermione clenched her teeth. She couldn't have that now, not when she was about to face one of the most dangerous witches of the century. Quickly she performed a series of spells, hoping that they'd keep the pain at bay at least for the next hour. Luckily the spells worked, but afterwards she was even more exhausted. Hermione's vision blurred and she had to close her eyes for a few moments, breathing deeply until she felt capable of going on and pressing the next few doorbells.

Nearly fifty minutes had passed since she had left Snape when the door to one of the subterranean flats opened and Hermione stared down on the annoyed face of Livia's brother Constantine.

"Hello?" he asked, squinting up to street level and then turning to where the tenant of the flat above him was standing in his doorway, scanning the surrounding for whoever had disturbed his Friday night.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat, then she quickly and as quietly as possible shuffled down the steps to the flat's door. There she had to stop. Constantine was blocking the way in and there was no way in which she could get past him.

"There's nobody here," the man above them said. "Probably some kids' prank. Little buggers."

Constantine snorted and made to get back inside. Praying that her magic wouldn't fail her, Hermione quickly raised her wand and performed a silent spell. Immediately a number of bright yellow sparks erupted from some place in the small park across the road, as if someone had ignited fireworks.

Constantine stopped in his track, let go of the door handle and hurried towards the stairs, getting up two of them so he could have a better look. He nearly collided with Hermione but she quickly drew back, her heart hammering wildly.

"What was that?" Constantine asked suspiciously.

His neighbour, who had stopped as well, just shrugged his shoulders. "Looks like fireworks. Have a nice evening." And he turned and went back into the house.

Constantine stared out into the night for a while, giving Hermione more than enough time to get into the flat. Then he too turned around and went back inside.

Hermione found herself in a narrow corridor with two locked doors on the right and left side. Straight ahead the door to what looked like the living room was open, and she quickly went towards it to get out of the way of Constantine. The small room, which had a shut door in its right wall, was deserted. Swiftly Hermione went to the far left hand corner where she would be out of the way and yet able to survey the room and the two doors leading off from it.

"Who was it?" Livia's muffled voice came from the room behind the shut door and Hermione gripped her wand harder.

"No one," Constantine replied. "Some kids' prank." He went to an armchair in the corner opposite to Hermione, sat down and took up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Silence descended. Hermione's eyes darted from the man to the door, her heart racing, waiting if Livia would join her brother. But she didn't.

Hermione made a quick decision. This was her opportunity to eliminate Constantine and even the chances. Suddenly Livia started to speak again, lower now so Hermione couldn't understand her. Her words were obviously not directed to her brother who didn't take any heed but went on reading. Was there someone with her in that room? _Please not_, Hermione thought fervently. It would be hard enough to overpower Livia and her brother. Or was Livia talking on the phone, or via floo network? Hermione couldn't discern any other voice apart from Livia's, so that might be the case.

Whatever was going on, Hermione had to take care of Constantine first. And so she raised her hand, praying once again that her magic wouldn't fail her, and silently voiced _Stupefy_!


	39. Revenge

**Revenge**

Snape was standing in his laboratory, trying to control his shaking hand which was slowly pouring a pale amber liquid into a gently simmering potion.

A spasm hit him and his hand jerked upward a little. Snape clenched his teeth. Normally this potion was easy to brew and – luckily – didn't take long to finish. But the effects of the Morituri Potion had set in with their full strength now, and Snape was hardly able to stand, let alone perform the delicate and controlled movements necessary for potion brewing. He had already spoilt the first batch and simply couldn't risk to spoil this one as well. If he did, he wouldn't have the time to finish a new one. As it was he hardly knew how much time he had left. Not much, probably.

He sighed with relief when he had finished pouring. For a few seconds Snape let himself lose control over the pain that was racking his body. He gasped and closed his eyes, grabbing the table in front of him. It was nearly too much, but he was not finished yet. He still needed to cut up a mandrake root and this again was a task for which he'd need all the concentration and strength he had left.

Snape downed a potion standing next to him, concentrated hard and eventually managed to push the pain away. It got harder and harder every time and he looked with dismay at his shaking hands. _How pathetic_, he thought. And there was not only the pain in his body. He found it increasingly hard to concentrate on anything, his mind more and more muddled with unconnected thoughts and memories. And pain, of course. His head was throbbing like mad. His vision was becoming blurred, too. Snape could still see what was right in front of him, but around the edges it all got rather misty.

With a great effort he grabbed the knife and started cutting the mandrake root. His hand was shaking so badly that he spoilt more than half of it, but luckily he wouldn't need much.

"Severus, Severus. Why, still brewing? You know there's no use, don't you?"

Snape jerked around, his heart hammering fast. The flames of the fireplace at the other side of the laboratory had turned green and there, in the middle of them, he saw Livia's head, smiling at him with a look of triumph that made him shiver.

"How did you set up a floo connection?" He hissed, trying to hide his shaking hands and to stand as straight as possible. "And what do you want here? Have you come to gloat over me? To watch me dying?"

"Oh, I've friends at the Ministry," Livia replied, smiling broadly. "And I've not come to see you die – or not only." She stared at him with a hungry expression and Snape felt his throat constrict.

"How's your little mudblood?" she went on in a teasing tone.

Snape gasped at her words. For a second his concentration and hold on the pain slipped and he started shaking all over until, with a great effort of will, he was able to control himself again.

"Ah," Livia said slowly and with a wide smile. "It can't be long now, can it?"

"What about Hermione," Snape spat out between clenched teeth, his thoughts racing. Did she know about Hermione's plan? Had Livia caught her again? "What have you done to her?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing. I promised you I wouldn't, didn't I?"

Snape relaxed for a second but there was still that triumphant smile on her face.

"What I did before that promise, however…" Livia didn't finish her sentence but again stared at Snape with this hungry expression, as if she tried not to miss any kind of reaction from him. And in that moment Snape realized what she had done. For a second he thought the pain and desperation would overpower it. _Perhaps__ that would be better_, he wondered. _Just to lose myself now, not to think of what is going to happen. How stupid of me to think she'd actually let Hermione live_.

"You poisoned her as well," he heard himself say in a strange matter of fact voice. "You made her drink the Morituri Potion when she was still unconscious, before I even came, didn't you?"

Livia gave a small delighted laughter. "You're so clever. Yes, I did. In a much diluted concentration, of course. But you know that this won't change the result."

"No, it won't." Snape was thinking fervently. When would the potion start to work and how long would it take until it immobilized Hermione? Was there still a chance that she could find Livia on time, somehow get her blood and return? He had to believe it, otherwise there was only desperation left.

"Is that all?" he asked the gloating woman.

"All I wanted you to know, yes."

Clenching his teeth, Snape met Livia's triumphant gaze unflinchingly. He raised his wand to perform a spell which would close his fireplaces against further intrusion. But nothing happened.

Livia chuckled delightedly. "Ah, you're losing your magic. It won't be long now, Severus."

Snape had a hard time not letting his shock show on his face. Not to be able to perform magic gave him a terrible feeling of helplessness. He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrated very hard, and performed the spell. When he opened his eyes again Livia was gone.

Overwhelmed by shock and pain Snape crumbled against the table, taking deep hoarse breaths. His thoughts were racing. He had to tell Dumbledore what had happened so that he could somehow help Hermione. Dumbledore would be anxious in any case, probably wondering where Snape was. But he had to finish the potion first, finish it quickly lest it would be spoilt and any chance he or Hermione had of survival gone. And so Snape went back to cutting the mandrake root.

His mind was in turmoil, worries about Hermione fighting with the onslaught of pain and the increasing lack of concentration created by the effects of the Morituri Potion. And at the back of his mind was the nagging feeling that he was missing something, that there was something important he had forgot.

Snape shook his head. He couldn't have this distraction now. And with a great effort of will he pushed everything away, his whole concentration fixed on his task and on holding the pain and desperation at bay.

Luckily it took him only a few moments to cut the root and finish the potion. When he had made sure that it was perfect, missing only Livia's blood to make it work, Snape let go of the table he had been clutching to keep himself upright and laboriously went towards the door of the laboratory. He hardly made it and when he arrived there he had to hold on to the door handle and pause again for a few moments.

The pain was raging inside him, clouding his vision and his mind. But he clenched his teeth and slowly, very slowly left his laboratory and made towards his study. Halfway there he thought he'd faint with pain. Quickly he called Rose, hardly being able to notice her worried expression and exclamations, and ordered her to take him to his study.

When he arrived there he collapsed onto the nearest chair, clutching his heart, breathing raggedly. From very far away he heard Dumbledore's worried voice talking to him, but it took a few minutes until he had fought down the pain again and was able to understand him.

"Hermione got poisoned, too," he rasped, and quickly told Dumbledore everything that had happened. When he had finished he doubled over, shaken by new pain and not wanting Dumbledore to see his contorted face. _Not long now, _he thought dimly, _not long_. And part of him wanted it to end, to get away from this pain which was worse than anything he had experienced in all those long years in Voldemort's service.

"I will get help immediately," he heard Dumbledore's voice. "We'll have to come here first, to get the cloth with Hermione's blood."

Snape only nodded. It didn't matter now if the whole of Hogwarts invaded his sanctuary, did it?

He heard Dumbledore order Rose to follow him to Hogwarts. "Do what Dumbledore tells you," he said, his voice hardly more than a whisper.

"Severus?" he heard Dumbledore call out worriedly.

"I'm fine", he managed to say and looked up again, trying to compose his face as well as he could. "Go and help Hermione."

Dumbledore nodded and walked out of his picture, and with a very worried look on her face Rose disapparated. Then Snape was left alone.

Finally he could give in to the pain and he screamed, screamed until he was hoarse and deathly exhausted. But there was no respite from the anguish, he didn't have any strength left and there was no potion that would provide relief. The pain was tearing him apart, his body was burning with it and the small part of his mind that was still functioning could not imagine that this should ever end, that he could survive this.

But Hermione. She mustn't die, otherwise all of this would have been in vain. He mustn't think about this possibility because that pain would be even worse than what he was feeling right now. No, help would come in time, he was sure of that. And they'd help her get Livia's blood and then everything would be right again. The potion was ready, and all they needed for Hermione to survive was just one drop of the blood of the woman who had given her the potion.

Suddenly Snape gasped in surprise. His eyes, which had been shut, flew open and he stared in front of him, the now constant pain dimmed by a sudden realization. The nagging feeling that he was forgetting something… How could he have missed that? It was not Livia who had given him the Morituri Potion, it had been Constantine.

A short, bitter laughter escaped Snape's mouth and died as new pain shot through his body. Even if Hermione got Livia's blood here in time, he would die. He had to tell Dumbledore, to call Rose, but as his parched lips formed her name his body was shaken by a new wave of pain and darkness descended over him.

* * *

_Thanks for all the reviews and special thanks to my Beta C.E. Belvedier! I'm very happy that so many people still read this story (don't worry, there are only a few chapters left)._


	40. How to save a life

**How to save a life**

When the spell hit Constantine he slumped into his chair without making any noise. Hermione's eyes quickly darted to the closed door, her ears pricked for any sound from Livia. But there was only the low murmur of her voice, broken by laughter.

Quickly Hermione cast two other spells, one which made sure that Constantine would stay unconscious for a longer period of time, the other binding and gagging him. She smiled with relief when her magic didn't fail her.

Carefully Hermione went towards Constantine and placed the open _Daily Prophet_ over him, so that his face was hidden from view and on first glance it would look as if he had fallen asleep. It wouldn't fool anyone for long, but for a few moments it might work.

Now to Livia. Somehow Hermione had to get to her, but opening the door would alert her and Hermione had no idea if she was in firing range from the doorway.

She could try to lure Livia out, of course, by making a noise or something like that. But that again might rise Livia's suspicion. Hermione had a great advantage in the Invisibility Cloak and the element of surprise, but it would be dangerous to underestimate the elder witch.

Suddenly Livia's low murmur stopped. Hermione listened, her heart beating fast, but nothing happened. She glanced around quickly, reached a decision and made for a large armchair just opposite the door to Livia's room, planning to position herself behind it. It might provide some protection from any spells that Livia might fire in her direction.

When she was just two feet away from the chair the door suddenly opened. Hermione stopped in her tracks, the half-open door obscuring her view of Livia. Her heart was beating fast as she was waiting for the elder witch to open the door completely so that she could hit her with a spell.

"Constantine?" Livia asked.

She stepped into the room and Hermione was just about to cast _Stupefy_ when she was suddenly hit by a wave of pain unlike anything she had experienced before. She let go of her wand and doubled over, not quite able to stifle a gasp. There was only pain, her vision was blurred and the blood was roaring in her ears. Knowing that she had betrayed herself to Livia, Hermione fell down on the floor to get out of the way of spells, but it was too late.

Livia had quickly stepped into the room and yelled "Stupefy!" Her first spell missed Hermione, who was still wearing the cloak, but her second spell hit Hermione's shoulder and for a second all around her went black.

She recovered quickly, but when Hermione looked up she saw Livia standing over her, pointing her wand at her, the cloak and Hermione's wand in her other hand.

"Well well, Hermione, dear, you _are_ resilient," Livia hissed, staring at her with very cold eyes. "How did you find me?"

Hermione quickly looked around, her heart hammering wildly. She felt sick with anger and fear. How stupid of her to be overcome like that! She had been so close to rescuing Snape and now she had let herself get caught. Livia would kill her and Snape would die and everything would be her fault… Hermione's thoughts were racing. She simply had to get out of here. Help might be on its way, but she had no idea when it would arrive, if at all. Luckily the pain had vanished as quickly as it had come but Hermione thought it best to appear weak and helpless to Livia. And to keep her talking. As long as she talked she wouldn't kill her.

"Remember the day when I helped you with that stuck window?" she said, getting slowly on her knees but stopping there, trying to look as weak as possible – which wasn't that hard, really. "You cut your hand badly and some of your blood spilled onto my jacket. I forgot to have it cleaned."

"I see. So Severus told you what happened and you of course wanted to rescue him. And my blood brought you to me, but of course it couldn't help you saving him." Suddenly Livia sniggered, as if something amused her greatly.

_Keep her talking_, Hermione thought, frantically searching for a way to get out of this mess. "What's so funny?" she asked coldly.

"Oh, even if you would have got some fresh blood from me, it wouldn't have saved Severus," Livia said with a smile. "I didn't give him the potion. Constantine did. You on the other hand…"

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, her surprise turning into a cold foreboding.

"Come on, Hermione, think!" Livia said, her smile dazzling. "You are so clever, aren't you?"

Hermione stared at her, her breathing going hard. The strange sudden pains… The failing of her magic… "You gave me the Morituri Potion, too," she stated slowly.

"I did. Long before Severus showed up."

"So you wanted to kill me right from the beginning?" In spite of everything Livia had already done to her this still shocked Hermione. There was a great lump in her throat, but she didn't want to get overwhelmed by panic. She had to get out of this mess, now more than ever.

"It wasn't about you, darling," the elder woman said with a light shake of her head. "Not primarily. I wanted to hurt Severus."

Sudden realization hit Hermione. "So it was him you were talking to just now? To bask in your victory and see him suffer?"

"Clever girl. Yes, it was Severus. And now I understand why he was so busy in his laboratory. He thought that there was a chance of saving himself! But now he'll wait in vain, won't he?"

A new wave of pain shot through Hermione's body and she writhed, clutching at her heart, dimly hearing Livia's delighted laughter. But when the pain subsided, more slowly and reluctantly this time, she knew what she had to do. It wasn't a great plan, but it was the only one she had.

Below her lay a narrow, threadbare runner which went from one end of the room to the door on the other side. Livia was standing on it with her left foot. If Hermione could somehow jerk it upwards so that Livia lost her footing she might have a chance to overpower her.

"But perhaps help is on its way?" Livia went on, suspicion in her voice. "I guess you weren't so stupid to charge in here all on your own? Well, it's a real shame to leave now and not watch your...end but I guess I should get going." She snorted. "And take my useless brother with me."

Panic gripped Hermione. If Livia disapparated, everything was lost. Pretending to be still doubled over by pain so much that she needed to prop up herself with her hands, Hermione slowly shifted her feet down from the runner. Then she suddenly grabbed the left edge of the carpet and, bolting up, jerked at it with all her might.

Livia staggered. And Hermione charged.

One of the first things she'd done when she had left the wizarding world was to enrol in a muggle self-defense course. She never wanted to be helpless, not after all the things she'd been through, and when she had decided not to use magic anymore she had to find other ways to defend herself.

So when she closed the few yards between Livia and herself Hermione knew what she had to do. She saw the elder woman raise her wand and, with her full momentum and all the strength she had left jammed her right elbow hard into Livia's stomach. The elder woman doubled over and immediately Hermione let her elbow come down hard on her neck. Livia staggered and with a clatter let go of the two wands she had still been clutching. Immediately Hermione lunged towards the closest, her body hitting the floor hard. She grabbed the wand, turned around and yelled "Stupefy!"

With a dull thud Livia hit the floor.

Hermione lay there, panting hard, staring at the unconscious woman, her blood buzzing in her ears. Then she got up and quickly cast the same spells she had used on Constantine. Luckily they still worked.

Staring down on Livia, Hermione suddenly felt a surge of exhilaration. But the triumphant smile vanished from her face when she noticed that her hand was shaking badly. No, she had no time to waste now. She had already wasted more than enough, who knew if Snape was still alive…

Quickly she pushed that thought away, went to a nearby shelf and transfigured a glass paperweight and two pens into two syringes and a rubber belt. It was very hard but finally she held the items in her hands. Then she knelt down next to Livia, rolled up the sleeve on her left arm and wound the band around it above the elbow. Hermione had never taken a blood sample before, but had seen it often enough, in reality and on TV, to have a rough idea how it worked. And she certainly had no qualms about pricking Livia.

It took Hermione a few attempts until she actually hit a vein and was able to draw enough blood. When the syringe was full she quickly marked it with a black "L" and went over to Constantine. She was just about to insert the needle when she had to stop as a new wave of pain hit her. Afterwards her hands were shaking so badly she couldn't hit a vein. Hermione clenched her teeth. _Get yourself together_, she thought fervently. _You're nearly there. Concentrate!_

Finally she managed to extract Constantine's blood. Quickly she put the two syringes into her jacket and got ready to disapparate. She would tell Dumbledore where to collect Livia and her brother.

But nothing happened. Where there anti-apparition wards? Quite likely. Or was she no longer able to apparate? Hermione swayed for a moment, lost in horror at that thought. No, she had to get outside and try there. After a last, short look at Livia and her brother Hermione left the living room. She was walking towards the entrance door when it suddenly flew open.

Hermione drew her wand and pressed herself against the wall of the corridor, her heart racing. But then she let out a laughter mixed with a sob. McGonagall was standing in the doorway, her wand raised, Flitwick next to her.

"Professor," Hermione said weakly, stepping into the corridor and smiling at her widely. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

McGonagall's worried face relaxed, she put down her wand and in a few long strides stood next to Hermione. "Are you all right? Where is Livia?"

"Next door. I have her blood. And Constantine's. I need to get it to Snape immediately."

An uncontrollably shiver had seized Hermione and McGonagall threw her a worried glance. "We'll take you to him immediately. Come."

And with this she took Hermione's elbow and gently but swiftly led her up the stairs to the street.

"How is Snape?" Hermione asked. Her mouth felt dry and she was dreading McGonagall's answer.

"Still alive," McGonagall said in a grim voice. "At least he was a few minutes ago."

Hermione felt as if a great weight had fallen off her heart. "I'm glad to hear it," she mumbled. Somehow her vision was getting blurred. She shook her head in irritation. Suddenly a new wave of pain hit her. Hermione gasped and doubled over. It was worse than before, worse even than the Cruciatus. Dimly she heard someone call her name. Then everything went black.

* * *

_As always great thanks to my Beta C.E. Belvedier for reading and correcting my story!_


	41. We'll always have Stratford

**We'll always have Stratford**

When Hermione opened her eyes she found herself lying in a strange bed. Quickly she scrambled upright, looking around for her wand, her heart beating fast. But then she realized that she was in the guest-room in Snape's house and calmed down again.

The room was dim with only a little light filtering through the drawn curtains but when Hermione looked at her watch she saw that it was a few minutes to two in the afternoon.

Gingerly she left the bed. Looking down on herself she found that someone had put her in a rather old-fashioned nightdress. Slowly she went towards the window and opened one of the curtains, squinting against the sudden light which was magnified by the sunlit snow surrounding the house.

She wasn't dead, and she was in Snape's house. So McGonagall and Flitwick must have taken her there, and the potion had obviously worked. At least for her. But what about Snape?

Feeling sickening apprehension, Hermione quickly turned to her clothes which had been cleaned and put on a chair. When she moved there was a dull soreness in her body, but apart from that she felt fine. She dressed quickly, left the room and went to Snape's bed room. But when she knocked and entered she found it empty.

Quickly Hermione went on to his study. And there he was, sitting in the familiar armchair, a cup of tea and a teapot on the table next to him.

"You are all right," Hermione said, standing in the doorway and grinning stupidly with joy but not minding it.

"I am," he replied calmly. "And so are you, as I can see. Please, sit down."

She took a seat in the chair opposite of him, her eyes riveted on his face. He still looked pale and there were deep lines in his face, but his eyes were shining brightly and his hands didn't shake anymore.

Noticing her searching look, he said dryly, "Rest assured, you don't look much better than I do."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, still smiling. "At least we're still alive."

"Yes indeed." Snape reached out for another teacup. "Drink this," he said, pouring her a cup. "Doctor's orders. Poppy is coming at three to check on us."

"So how are we?" Hermione asked, reached for the cup and took a careful sip. It was better than she had expected, the bitter taste of herbs masked by honey.

"A bit the worse for wear," Snape replied. "As you will undoubtedly have noticed, there is some residual pain. It should be gone in a few days. Poppy also assures me that there should be no further after-effects."

"Glad to hear it." Hermione took another sip, then looked at Snape over the rim of the cup. "It was a close call, wasn't it?" she asked quietly.

"It was." Snape met her gaze. "When Minerva and Filius came with the blood samples, I was barely alive. How long you would have lasted I don't know. But tell me how you got Livia's blood."

Hermione told him.

"You were lucky," Snape stated when she had finished.

"Yes I was. Especially that McGonagall and Flitwick showed up. What happened to Livia and Constantine?"

A grim smile tucked at Snape's mouth. "Dumbledore sent some of the Order to collect them. They're interrogated now. Azkaban should be next."

"I'm glad this is over," Hermione said emphatically.

"So am I."

Hermione looked down on the cup in her hands. Outwardly they were having just a normal conversation, but there was so much that wasn't said. Extraordinary things had happened during the last hours, and while they hadn't had time yet to come to terms with them, they couldn't be ignored. There were things she needed to know, questions that were hanging over them but Hermione was afraid to address them because she didn't know what would happen if she did.

"Thank you for saving my life," Snape suddenly said.

Hermione's eyes jerked up. "Well, it was the least I could do," she replied, the lightness of her voice sounding forced. "You saved mine first." She grimaced. "I'd say we are even."

Snape inclined his head a little. "If you say so. But I won't forget what you did." There was a curious expression in his dark eyes and Hermione looked down on her cup again.

"Why did you do it?" She asked. "Drink the potion, I mean. What happened really after Livia put the Cruciatus on me?"

"Not all that much," he replied in a dispassionate voice. Hermione looked up and he lightly shook his head. "No, really. Livia was afraid that Dumbledore might be able to locate us, and so she proposed a deal to me. If I drank the potion she wouldn't harm you. And I believed her," he said with a bitter snort. "Well, actually I didn't have much of a choice."

"But why…"

Snape met her eyes. "It was my fault that you were in this situation," he said levelly. "It was my fight. I couldn't let you die for me." He hesitated, then went on, "Trust me, I've felt enough guilt in my life, I didn't want any more of that."

He held her gaze a few seconds longer, than reached for the tea pot and refilled his cup.

"I heard of your success with the Anti-Werewolf-Potion," Hermione said after a few moments of silence. "It must have been much work."

"Yes, it was."

"So are you any further finding a potion that will heal werewolves for good?"

Snape stirred his tea. Suddenly he seemed strangely reluctant. "I've made some progress."

"Perhaps I could help you again?"

"Yes, perhaps."

They both fell silent and Hermione stared down on her tea, wondering why he was withdrawing again. Suddenly it was as if a chasm had opened up between them.

"McGonagall sends her greetings," Snape abruptly stated. "She invites you to Hogwarts for Christmas. She says she'll send you a proper invitation soon."

Hermione looked up again, glad that Snape had obviously found a subject he was willing to talk about. "Indeed. Did she invite you, too?"

"Yes."

"And are you coming?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

Silence descended again and once more Hermione was trying to find out where their conversation had gone wrong. Why was he closing up again? It was exasperating, really. After all that had happened during the last hours she had thought that there was a connection between them. That she meant something to him. That at least they might take up their friendship where they had left it off before that incident in September. But it seemed she had to be in mortal peril before he'd shed his distancing armour.

"I also wanted to apologize," Snape suddenly went on. "For keeping you in the dark."

Hermione was surprised at his words. "Thank you," she said, feeling a little bewildered but also strangely happy.

Snape made a jerking movement with his right hand. "I am sorry I hurt you. It wasn't something I enjoyed."

Hermione looked at him, trying to read his face but, as so often, failing. _Did you mean any of the things you said then? _She thought. Snape's words were still painfully present to her – "Your…advances…are unwished for," he had spat. "You were deluded by alcohol and emotional need. And it is ridiculous to think I could ever feel anything for you." How much of this had he truly meant?

"Thank you," she repeated softly. "I have thought about it and I know why you did it. You just wanted to keep me safe – which doesn't mean that I think that it was right, mind you." She grimaced. "But actually I did something rather similar to my parents when I modified their brains without telling them, so I can understand your reasons."

There was a look of relief in his eyes and he seemed to relax.

Hermione looked down on her hands for a few moments, wondering if she should say what was on her mind. "There's something I wanted to ask you," she finally went on, raising her eyes again.

"Yes?"

"The things you said…in September…when you threw me out… Did you mean them?"

She felt very nervous, observing Snape's face for any reaction. His eyes widened for the fraction of a second, then the emotionless mask was back in place. "We shouldn't talk about that now," he said quietly, reaching for his teacup, his hair falling down to shade his face.

Hermione felt frustrated. "As you wish," she said curtly. She watched Snape, the controlled movements of his hands and the stiffness of his body, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to elicit a reaction from him, a real reaction not this controlled charade.

Leaning slightly forward, catching his gaze when he looked up again and meeting it squarely, she added, "In July...after that night in Stratford…did you perform a memory charm on me?"

His face tensed but this time he didn't evade her eyes. "Yes."

Hermione felt her heart beat faster. "That explains a lot," she said tentatively and with a wry smile. "Why did you do that?"

Snape gave a short, harsh laugh. "Merlin, Hermione! Isn't that obvious?" He stared at her, his eyes very dark and his voice harsh. "I took advantage of you when you were under great emotional stress and the influence of alcohol. I acted despicably. And I didn't want to face the consequences. It was pure cowardice and shame that made me tamper with your brain."

Hermione shook her head vehemently. "That's not what happened," she said, her heart hammering like mad but her voice steady. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that I wanted it? That I might actually…like you?"

For a second she thought that Snape's eyes widened in surprise, but immediately his face went back to the composed mask she knew so well. He was very still, staring at her. "You hardly know me," he finally stated in a clipped tone.

Hermione held his gaze, her heart still racing. "I've known you since I was a child. You saved my life, twice. You were willing to die for me. I think that's all I need to know."

Snape's expression changed subtly, his face growing stony. He shook his head. "You don't know the things I've done," he said in a flat voice.

Hermione raised her chin in defiance. "Then why don't you tell me?"

"Oh no." For a second his mask slipped and Hermione saw fear in his eyes.

"I won't think less of you no matter what you did."

"Yes, you will."

She stared at Snape, frustrated by his behaviour and aching for him. "So you're saying that after all that happened – after all you've done for me – that's just it?" she finally asked. "That we will meet once a year in Stratford? Perhaps write letters from time to time?"

Snape's face was unreadable again. "If you want that."

"Good God, Severus," Hermione burst out, her voice sounding harsh in her ears, "you know that's not what I want. Why can't you ever let go of your dispassionate mask? Why do you always have to pretend?"

He didn't reply, just held her gaze with his dark eyes.

"I guess I'll go and look for Rose now," Hermione said quietly after a while and got up. "I'll see you later, Severus."

"Yes, Hermione."

And she went and left the room.

* * *

_Sorry if you had hoped that this would finally be the great romantic climax. I just think it'd be too easy and also unrealistic if Snape would have immediately shed all his caution and complexes and swept Hermione off her feet._

_Great thanks to my Beta __C.E. Belvedier whose encouraging comments are a great motivator!_


	42. Coming home

**Coming home**

When Hermione had left the study Snape remained sitting, staring at the cup in his hands. After a while he put it down and started rubbing his temples. "Damn!" he cursed quietly. "Damn! Damn!"

How could their conversation have gone so wrong? Everything had been fine, hadn't it, just like in old times. But then she had insisted on discussing that wretched business in Stratford. Why couldn't she just leave it alone?

_Because she's not such a coward as you are_, the annoying voice in his head told him.

He hadn't been ready for this. Hadn't had time yet to think through everything that had happened over the last hours and what it might mean for him. All he had wanted was to apologize to her and to get their relationship back the way it had been before he had thrown her out in September.

Perhaps he should have been more enthusiastic when she had proposed working together again? Yes, he should have. But when Hermione had asked he had somehow felt reluctant. Reluctant and thrown off his guard although he should have known that she would bring it up. And yet he wanted to work with her again, didn't he? Of course he did. But this question was tied up with the really important question: what did he want from Hermione?

He had been a fool to believe that after what they both had been through in the last hours she would just leave it at that and let him go on dictating the terms of their rather strange relationship. A fool to believe that now she knew what had really happened in Stratford and later in September they could just go back to how it had been before all of this had happened. As unbelievable as it sounded, it seemed that Hermione wanted more.

Snape ran his fingers through his hair. _She likes me_… The thought was wondrous, sweet and warm and exciting, and part of him wanted nothing more than just give into it. But as soon as he did, the cold reality hit him. He had been right in warning her off, she didn't really know him, had some strange romantic and idealized picture of him. Which was no wonder, after all he _had_ been willing to die for her. But it would never work; they both would only get hurt.

He would have to talk to her, of course. Friendship was possible, wasn't it? A good working relationship, letters, dinners and lively conversations. There was nothing wrong with that, was it?

It had been lonely without her. He could admit that now. He had missed their talks, her teasing him, her smile and enthusiasm. And they needn't meet in London all the time, they could meet here, in his house. At least sometimes.

Snape threw a quick look at his watch. Poppy should be coming any time. There was no sense in seeking out Hermione now, but as soon as Poppy would have left, he'd talk to her. Yes, and this time he would be prepared for whatever she would bring up.

His thoughts were disturbed by a rap at the door. When it opened he saw Madame Pompfrey who was looking at him with a somewhat reproachful expression.

"Well, how are you?" she asked rather curtly and entered the room.

"Mostly fine," he said and got up so she could run a couple of scans along his body. "Have you looked after Miss Granger?"

"I have. She should be fine and without any after-effects in a few days. As should be you."

Madame Pompfrey stashed away her wand, opened a large bag she was carrying and drew out a few small bottles of potions. "Take one of these tonight and tomorrow morning, noon and evening."

When she had put the bottles on the table next to his chair, she turned back to Snape, still looking at him with an accusatory expression. She was much smaller than he, so she had to glower upwards, but this obviously didn't daunt her.

"What?" Snape asked after a few moments, slightly irritated.

"Nothing," she replied and quickly lowered her eyes.

"Oh no, Poppy, you are angry with me for some reason. So spit it out."

She looked up at him again. "Very well. Your private life is none of my business. But didn't I tell you not to hurt Miss Granger?"

Snape snorted. "You are right, it's none of your concern. And I haven't hurt Miss Granger – at least not for some time. I am however sorry if you got the impression that I somehow gave her pain. Rest assured, it was necessary and it won't happen again."

"Indeed."

Now it was Snape who glowered down at the elder woman. "Merlin, Poppy, I just risked my life for her. You can't really accuse me of treating her badly." A thought crossed his mind. "Did she say anything to that effect?"

"Oh no. But I've known her for a long time now, and I know when she is unhappy." Madame Pompfrey gave Snape a long, scrutinizing look, and finally said, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't meddle. I'm sure you meant nothing bad, whatever happened."

"No, I didn't. I'll talk to her as soon as you're gone."

"I'm afraid she's already left."

"What!" Snape stared at the elder witch.

"When I was finished she said that she'd leave immediately. She told me to give her regards to you."

"I see."

Madame Pompfrey looked at him hard, and then her face softened slowly. "It will be all right, Severus."

"Oh, of course it will."

Suddenly the elder woman raised her arms and gave him a short, firm hug. Snape tensed, surprised at this sudden show of affection, than responded rather awkwardly.

"Are you coming to Hogwarts for Christmas?" she asked when she had let go of him again.

"I don't know yet. Probably not."

"Miss Granger is coming," Madame Pompfrey said with a light smile.

"Is she? Well, we'll see."

"Good bye then, Severus. And send for me if you have problems."

"I will. Good bye and thank you, Poppy."

**…**

Hermione apparated just outside the Hogwarts gates. It was Christmas Day, shortly after noon, and she had left her parents after their traditional lunch to follow McGonagall's invitation.

So far up north everything was covered with a thick layer of snow and the air was chilly. Yet the sun was shining from a clear, deep blue sky and the light reflected from the snow was so bright Hermione quickly took out a handkerchief and transfigured it into sunglasses.

There was no one around. Hermione could have apparated to Hogsmeade, of course, but she wasn't keen on anyone recognizing her. Going back to Hogwarts and meeting her former teachers would be strenuous enough.

Slowly she started walking through the gate and up the road to the castle. It must have snowed after the road had been cleared for the last time since it was covered with a thin layer of crisp, untouched snow. It was wonderful to walk over this perfect white blanket, leaving the first marks on it and hearing the crunch of her boots in the winter silence. Hermione had forgotten how beautiful Hogwarts was in winter. _Well, at least as long as the weather is fine_, she thought with a wry smile, remembering dark and dreary days and cold and droughty corridors.

The closer Hermione got to the castle, the more nervous she got. She had come a long way since she had left it more than five years ago, but she had no idea how she'd feel about being back.

She had missed it so much.

And yet, during that last terrible year at Hogwarts, the memories, good and bad, had made her life a misery. The way every last spot had made her think of Ron and Harry, the way that the teachers and students had looked at her with awe and pity in their eyes; it had driven her crazy.

But she wasn't the traumatized girl any longer. No, it would be nice to see the old castle again, nice to talk to her former teachers. Hagrid especially. She had written letters to him regularly, but hadn't seen him since her last year.

The only teacher she had met all that time was Snape… Perhaps he would be there as well…?

Hermione quickly recalled her thoughts. Of course he wouldn't. She hadn't heard anything from him since she had left his house two weeks before. That hurt, of course. In fact it hurt more than she had thought possible. But there was nothing she could do about it. After all she had as good as told him she loved him. And if he decided not to act on this it was his decision. She had made her choice and if, after all that had happened, he still couldn't bring himself to even only work with her again, she would have to accept that he either didn't have feelings for her or just couldn't admit them.

Hermione snorted, annoyed with her bleak thoughts. Determined not to let them overshadow her return to Hogwarts, she pushed them back and instead focused on the beautiful and peaceful winter landscape around her. The road made a wide bend around a group of tall firs and she slowed down. There it was, just as she knew it would be. The first sight of Hogwarts, towering over the white landscape. Hermione felt sudden, great joy and her face lit up in a large smile.

She stood there for a while, looking at the castle which was basking in the low winter sun. Then she briskly walked on. After a few minutes she came across a few students who were having a snowball fight not far from the road. They looked at her curiously and Hermione waved at them, feeling suddenly strangely shy. They were young, too young to remember her from her time at school. But she knew that her picture was well known in the wizarding world. It would not be long until those students would realize who the visitor was.

Hermione wasn't keen on that kind of fame. But she had known that it was part of her re-entering the wizarding world, and she didn't want to let it spoil her visit.

There was nobody in the Entrance Hall when she entered, but McGonagall had told her to come to the staff room. Hermione halted for a few moments, her eyes growing accustomed to the dimness of the castle after the brightness outside. Everything looked just like when she had left and she felt a bitter sweet stab of recognition and an echo of the excitement that had always filled her when, after the summer holidays, she had returned to Hogwarts. What hit her even more, because she hadn't expected it, was the familiar smell of the castle.

Standing there, Hermione carefully examined her feelings. There was sadness and pain, but stronger was a feeling of happiness, of returning home. No, she was glad that she had come.

* * *

_Thanks for all your encouraging comments! And as always special t__hanks to my Beta C.E. Belvedier._


	43. Hogwarts

**Hogwarts**

The corridors of the castle were deserted, the few students who had stayed over Christmas probably outside or in their common rooms. Hermione met no one on her way to the staff room. Feeling rather excited, she knocked and then opened the door, just to find herself in the middle of a Christmas party. The room was decorated with lots of holly and a large tree which took up nearly a fourth of the whole room. And there, around a table laden with Christmas cookies and punch, sat her former teachers.

"'mione!" Hagrid cried out, jumped out of his oversized chair, stormed towards her and drew her in an embrace which nearly crushed her backbone.

"Hermione, welcome," said McGonagall with a large smile. "Hagrid, I think you should let her down again."

When Hermione had extracted herself from Hagrid's embrace she found herself surrounded by her former teachers, eager to shake her hand and welcome her back. A warm feeling spread in her breast and she returned their smiles. When she had done shaking hands, she settled down in a large armchair. Dumbledore was there as well, beaming from a large portrait, his head decorated with a yellow paper crown. At first she felt slightly inhibited, not liking to be in the center of attention, but her teachers had so many questions and everyone acted so friendly she soon shed her shyness.

Just like the castle, the teachers seemed not to have changed at all and a queer feeling of déjà vu settled on Hermione. There was only one new teacher, just a few years older than herself, who was introduced to her as Quintus Quirin, the new Potions teacher.

"Horace finally thought he had had enough of teaching and retired," McGonagall explained to her. "Do you remember Quintus?"

Hermione looked at the young man. He was very slim and gangly, had a thin, long face, dark brown hair and surprisingly light blue eyes. "I think you were in your fifth year when I came to Hogwarts," she said.

He grinned. "I was. And of course I know you, the famous Hermione Granger."

Hermione grimaced and quickly changed the topic. "So you're teaching Potions?"

"I try to." He sighed theatrically. "Believe it or not, but after one year I can really understand old Snape. Most of the students_ are_ stupid or at least careless." He threw her a scrutinizing look. "I heard you've seen him lately?"

Hermione felt rather uncomfortable and threw a quick glance to McGonagall. The elder witch caught her look and explained, "After what happened we couldn't keep his survival a secret any longer, at least not among the staff."

"I see," Hermione replied. "Yes, I saw him two weeks ago."

Quirin looked at her inquisitively, but she only smiled and didn't say anything further. Hermione certainly wasn't keen on discussing Snape or her relationship with him. "Excuse me," she went on after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, "I'll just get some more punch," turned and went to the large bowl. Then she made for McGonagall who was standing a little away from the others and asked quietly, "Is he coming?"

"Severus?" the elder witch replied. "I invited him but I haven't heard from him. And Albus told me he doesn't intend to celebrate Christmas."

"I see," Hermione said, trying not to show her disappointment. Of course she had known that it was highly unlikely he'd turn up for Christmas – she had the sneaking feeling that Snape liked Christmas about as much as Ebenezer Scrooge. But still part of her had hoped that he might come.

_What about being reasonable_, a wry voice said in her mind. _What about not caring if he chose never to see you again?_

Suddenly she noticed that McGonagall looked at her searchingly with her beady eyes, a small smile playing around her lips. "I have to say I don't know what surprised me more," she the elder witch said quietly, "that Severus was still alive, or that you and he had become friends."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Believe me, I'm as surprised as you are. It just happened. He is…different now. Or perhaps not so much different, but I know him better." She smiled crookedly. "And he treated me much better."

McGonagall gazed at her shrewdly. "I'm glad to hear it. Severus was never an easy person, not even as a child. But I always thought he was a good man – deep deep down… That's why I couldn't believe it when he killed Albus…" She shook her head. "I still find the thought terrible. Poor Severus…" She trailed off, then suddenly asked. "So how is he these days?"

Hermione grimaced. "I'm afraid I don't know. We haven't spoken since that incident with the Morituri Potion."

McGonagall furrowed her brow. "What happened? Did you quarrel?"

Hermione evaded her eyes. "Kind of… It's complicated. But I'll probably see him in January."

When she met McGonagall's eyes, Hermione was struck by the sorrow in them. "Well, I hope it works out," the elder witch said quietly. "It doesn't seem that he's interested in having much contact with us, and I'd be glad to know that he has someone."

Hermione felt relieved when Hagrid joined them and McGonagall turned away from her. The elder woman was far too perceptive.

The rest of the afternoon passed with pleasant conversations and far too much cookies. Hermione had baked some herself and gave them to her teachers as a present. They were fascinated by her explanations of how she had produced them without using any magic. Later dinner was served in the Great Hall. As always the Christmas decoration, which sported fake snow falling down and vanishing only a few inches above the gathered teachers and students, was breathtaking.

When they had finished their opulent meal they went back to the more intimate common room. Spirits were high and Hermione had the impression that some of the teachers had had rather a bit too much alcohol.

Quintus, who seemed to have taken a liking to her, had actually turned out to be quite a witty conversationalists and Hermione was enjoying herself very much. It was after 10 pm and they were just enthusiastically singing "Good King Wenceslas" when the door suddenly opened. Heads turned and the song died down. Standing in the doorway, his cloak covered with melting snowflakes, was Snape.

His face twitched into a sarcastic smile. "Merry Christmas," he said, hesitating on the threshold. His eyes swept over the congregation and when they met Hermione's she felt a sudden stab. She was glad that he looked away immediately. The effect he still had on her was rather unnerving.

Snape was surprised at how nervous he felt about meeting his former colleagues again. It wasn't only that, however. He was back in Hogwarts. Ever since he had started school so many years ago, his feelings towards the castle had been rather ambivalent. Everything had been better than living with his parents, and he had found intellectual satisfaction there. And there had been Lily, of course. But he had never been anything but an outsider, be it as student or as teacher. When Dumbledore had made him stay to teach, Hogwarts had sometimes felt like a prison.

He didn't really know what had made him come. Certainly Snape hadn't intended it when he had got up this morning. He never celebrated Christmas and when Dumbledore had greeted him with a beaming "Merry Christmas!" he had snorted and ignored him.

"Are you coming to Hogwarts, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.

"To see everyone get drunk on punch and sentimentality, and to listen to badly sung carols? I think not."

"Miss Granger will be there," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling.

"Good for her," Snape grumbled, bowing over his desk.

"Very well," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "Then I'll see you tomorrow." And with that he had vanished.

After that Snape had felt strangely restless the whole day. He still didn't know what to do about Hermione. He wanted to see her again, certainly, to somehow undo the damage he had done with their last conversation. Several times he had sat down to write a letter to her, but had stopped after the first few words. No, a letter wouldn't do. Then he had thought of just going to her, but that again seemed too pushy. No, he'd meet her in Stratford.

But what if she wouldn't come this time?

This thought had been haunting Snape for quite a while now. But the problem was that even if he could bring himself to face Hermione, he still didn't know what he would say to her. What he wanted. No, that wasn't right. By now he knew very well what he wanted. He knew just as well, however, that it was impossible, that it would never work. But friendship, that should be possible. To see her from time to time, to talk to her, watch her smile…

Snape caught himself staring through his study's windows. Night had fallen and as he was looking out into the darkness, he suddenly felt – lonely. Lonely and sad and angry with himself. Usually he ignored feelings like this, but for some reason today they were hard to push away.

_Look at you_, a tiny sneering voice in his mind told him. _Sitting here alone at Christmas, staring out into the night with your heart aching. How pathetic is this? _

Cursing softly, Snape rose, got his coat and left his house.

He had apparated to Hogwarts and walked up the way to the castle in the falling snow. It was strange to be back, but while Snape was not exactly overjoyed, the feeling of oppression that he had felt constantly throughout that terrible last year was gone.

And now he was standing in the doorway to the Common Room, surveying his former colleagues. And there she was, sitting next to a young man he recognized as his former student Quintus Quirin. She was wearing a burgundy, tight fitting polo-neck sweater, a knee-length narrow black skirt and boots. Her hair was held back in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, but already single strands had escaped and were framing her face, copper reflexes being lit by the dancing light of the fire and candles. She looked lovely.

Snape's eyes narrowed for the fraction of a second. Actually it seemed that Quirin was thinking the same. He was sitting far too close to her.

"What a pleasant surprise," McGonagall exclaimed, getting up and jerking him out of his thoughts. She went towards him, a large smile on her face. "I am very glad you are back, Severus," she said and drew him into a short but tight embrace.

He only nodded. The others had got up as well and he had to endure their greetings and curious looks. Luckily nobody else tried to embrace him.

"And you certainly recall Quintus Quirin," McGonagall introduced the young man. "He is our new Potions Master."

"Indeed," Snape drawled, giving the young man a sarcastic smile and rather cold stare. "Are you enjoying it?"

Quintus looked nervous but didn't evade Snape's gaze. "As long as no one blows up the laboratory, Professor."

Snape made a throwaway gesture. "I'm not a Professor any longer, Quirin."

The young man nodded. "Very well, _Mr_. Snape."

Next to greet him was Hermione. "Severus," she said with a light smile, her use of his first name drawing a few surprised looks from the others. "I'm glad you have come."

Snape inclined his head a little. "Dumbledore talked me into it." Their eyes locked for a moment but he turned away quickly and started talking to Flitwick who was standing next to Hermione. Finally he settled between Flitwick and McGonagall, carefully avoiding Hermione as well as Trelawney who had greeted him rather enthusiastically and seemed much too eager to sit next to him.

"Uff," Quintus whispered to Hermione when they had sat down again. "That look of his still makes me feel that I've done something very wrong."

"I know what you mean," Hermione replied, shooting Snape, who seemed to be deep in conversation, a furtive look.

When she turned back to Quintus he was looking at her with a curious expression. "But it doesn't seem to daunt you. After all you are friends, aren't you?

"In a way." She grimaced. "I guess you get used to it." Suddenly Hermione had the feeling that someone was looking at her. When she turned around she caught Snape's eyes but he looked away immediately. Sighing inwardly, Hermione turned back to Quintus. "So what's changed here?" she asked briskly.

* * *

_Over 500 reviews – wow, never__, not even in my wildest dreams, did I expect to get so much feedback! So thanks to all of you._

_And as always my greatest thanks go to my staunch Beta C.E. Belvedier._


	44. After the mourning

**After the mourning**

Shortly after midnight Hermione excused herself from the company. It had been a long day but she didn't go to the guest quarters that McGonagall had given her, rather to a small inner courtyard in one of the remote parts of the castle. There was nothing in it but a young beech tree, a stele made out of light marble about six foot high, and a bench on the wall of the courtyard opposite of the stele. It was the memorial built to those who had fallen in the Battle of Hogwarts.

Many had called for a grander memorial than just a plain stone with the names of the fallen inscribed on it, but Dumbledore and McGonagall had favored this simple form and finally they had prevailed.

In her last year at Hogwarts Hermione had spent many hours in this courtyard. Not only because it somehow made her feel closer to Ron and Harry, but also because hardly anyone ever came here. And those who did had suffered losses similar to hers and understood her grief.

The snow was falling in large flocks now and lay thick on the ground. Hermione was glad for her high boots as she made her way to the bench. She drew her wand, cleared the bench from snow, put a warming and shielding spell on herself which would keep away the cold and the snowflakes, and sat down.

Not much had changed. The beech, which had been planted next to the stele when it had been erected, was taller now, but that was it. Hermione closed her eyes, trying to imagine herself back more than five years ago. But she failed. Her desperation, the constant anguishing feeling of loss and self-reproach which had made her want to cry out in rage and pain, was gone.

"I'm back," she whispered. "Ron, Harry, I miss you so much. But it no longer kills me."

Apart from the softly falling snow there was not a sound in the whole world. The waxing moon shed silvery light on the snow covered courtyard and the stars were blazing in the black sky. And Hermione felt calm and peaceful.

She was still looking at the stele and the snowflakes dancing around it when a sudden noise shook her out of her thoughts. Snape had entered the court and was just closing the door behind him.

"Hello Severus," Hermione said.

He inclined his head but remained standing at the door. "Minerva told me I might find you here. So this is the monument to the fallen?"

"Yes. Actually your name is on it as well."

He snorted. "Indeed." Snape seemed to hesitate for a moment but then went towards the stele, his dark robes starkly contrasted against the bright snow. He stopped in front of it and read the names.

"Severus Snape, hero of the resistance," Hermione said with a smile. She tried to catch a view of his face but it was turned away from her and shaded by his hair.

Snape snorted again.

"But you deserve it. There are few who did as much as you did." She hesitated, and then went on, "And for such noble reasons."

Hermione saw his body go rigid. "There was nothing noble about my reasons," he stated stiffly, still looking at the stele.

"You did it for love," Hermione said quietly. "I think that's a very noble reason."

She fell silent and there was no response from him. "Why don't you sit down?" she finally asked after some moments had passed. "You were looking for me?"

He turned around, went towards the bench and sat down on the other end, as far away from her as possible. Then he cast the same warming spell Hermione had performed.

"I see you're back to doing magic?"

Hermione smiled a bit self-consciously. "Yes. It just felt right."

"I'm glad to see it."

Hermione looked at him expectantly and a bit nervous, trying to read anything in his face but, as so often, failing at his dispassionate expression. "How are you?"

"I am fine. No aftereffects from the potion. How about you?"

"The same." She paused a few seconds, then went on. "How does it feel, being back?"

Snape snorted. "I guess that's a question I should ask you."

Hermione shrugged. "I was worried at first. But it's all right. Strange, but not in a bad way." She gave him a shy smile. "Actually I feel happy. It's good to be back, and to meet everyone again. In many ways this is my home, and I missed it dreadfully."

"Well, I certainly didn't miss Trelawney," Snape said dryly.

Hermione giggled. "What was that with her? She seemed rather eager to talk to you. Don't tell me you and Trelawney were closer than we all suspected."

Snape gave a short, barking laughter. "Certainly not! But shortly before the fall of Voldemort she suddenly got this strange notion that we are soul mates, that we had been together in another life and should be together in this life as well. I have to admit I had forgotten about it until I saw her again."

Hermione grinned. "I can just imagine her, chasing you with her crystal ball…"

"Just another reason why it was a good decision to leave."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "So you're not happy at all at being back?"

Snape huffed. "My relationship to Hogwarts has always been rather ambivalent." Her large, serious eyes were scrutinizing him and suddenly he had the worrying sensation that she could see right through him, see all his most intimate thoughts and feelings. He looked away quickly, to the stele where his name was engraved. Severus Snape, hero of the resistance…how ridiculous. "But I guess in a way it is like coming home," he heard himself say quietly, wondering what had made him admit it to her.

They fell silent for a few moments, Snape still looking at the stele. "What do you think of Quintus?" Hermione eventually asked, a mischievous tone in her voice.

Snape's gaze turned back to her and he looked at her scrutinizing, not sure what to make of that question. "He's far too young to teach," he said curtly.

Hermione raised a brow. "I guess he's thirty, or older. How old were you when you started teaching? 21?"

Snape snorted. "That was different."

"Because you were so brilliant? Or because Dumbledore made you stay?"

Snape stared at her, scowling. "Both, I guess," he eventually said, looking at Hermione's face and trying to read it, but unexpectedly failing this time.

They both fell silent again, looking out into the slowly falling snow. Snape felt strangely peaceful. There was no use denying that he enjoyed being with her, being teased by her. When he looked at Hermione, and even more when he talked to her, there was an unaccustomed feeling of lightness in his chest. It was dangerous, he knew that all too well, but he didn't want it to end nevertheless.

"Why did you change your mind, Severus?" Hermione eventually asked quietly. "I didn't think you liked Christmas at Hogwarts so much."

"I certainly don't."

"Then why are you here now?"

Suddenly Snape felt nervous. "Last time we talked…," he finally said a bit stiffly, "it didn't go the way I intended. I guess I was still…overwhelmed…by everything that had happened, and what I said didn't come out right. And when I wanted to rectify it you were gone."

Hermione looked at him intently. "You could have written to me. Or visited me."

"No," Snape shook his head. "That didn't feel right."

"I see. So what did you really want to tell me then?"

Snape's mouth was dry. "That I value your friendship very highly. That I want you to come back and work with me. Not only in London, but at my house." He hesitated for a few seconds, then went on. "And that if you really want to know about me…about my past…I will tell you."

Hermione looked at him seriously. Then slowly a small smile spread over her face. "I'd like that very much," she said softly. "But perhaps we should go somewhere else, to talk."

He grimaced. "We should. It'll take some time."

"My quarters?"

Snape hesitated for a second. "Very well," he said and got up. "Your quarters, then."

* * *

_We're getting there ;-). Thanks as always to my great Beta __C.E. Belvedier!_


	45. Choices

**Choices**

Snape followed Hermione through the empty and dimly lit castle. Whatever had made him propose telling her about his past? He certainly hadn't intended to do it. But he had felt guilty about his behaviour towards her, eager to reestablish their relationship. And when he had talked to her just now he had been careless, lulled by the strange effect her presence had on him.

Now he found that he was becoming more and more nervous. He had no idea how she would react to what he was about to tell her and part of him was terrified lest she'd despise him, end their friendship and he'd never see her again.

"Here we are," she finally said, opening the door to one of Hogwarts's spacious guest rooms. A fire was burning in the fireplace, casting shadows on the wood clad walls and the heavy velvet curtains at the windows. Hermione stepped in and quickly lit a few candles until the room was cast in warm light. Outside the snow was falling thickly, obscuring the view over the lake that the large windows gave.

Hermione looked around, then pointed to a small couch standing close to the fire. "Let's sit down," she said. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No thanks," Snape replied, sat down at one end of the couch and watched her as she got out of her boots and sat down at the other end with her legs tucked up underneath her.

Hermione looked at him expectantly and for a second he thought again how young and innocent she looked, that she could only be repulsed by what he was about to reveal. But he knew that that was not true. She had experienced so many terrible things, she knew probably nearly as much of the darkness within people as he did.

And so Snape started speaking. He told her everything, everything he had ever done in Voldemort's service, be it as his follower or later as spy. His voice was level and matter-of-fact, only sometimes did it shake a little. He neither hid nor embellished anything, describing everything with ruthless and cruel candour. And all the time his eyes were fixed on Hermione's face, watching for her reactions.

There was shock and terror, pity and pain. Sometimes she shook her head in disbelief. And sometimes her large eyes filled with tears. But never did he see those emotions he had dreaded, repulsion, disdain and hate.

Finally Snape had finished. He noticed how tense his body was and slowly relaxed, for the first time looking away from her face out of the window.

"How did you survive all this without going mad?" Hermione asked quietly. He turned back at her. She was leaning forward a little, her eyes searching his. "Without…" she made a furtive gesture with her hand.

"Losing my soul? Destroying it irrecoverably?" he finished her question.

She nodded reluctantly.

"Perhaps I didn't," Snape said simply.

Hermione looked at him intensely, then shook her head. "No. If you had, you wouldn't have suffered so much. And you wouldn't be here now."

Snape's breath caught and a cold and heavy lump in his chest dissolved suddenly, leaving him feeling strangely light and happy. He looked away quickly, not wanting her to see how her words had touched him. "You always believe the best of people, don't you?" he said rather gruffly.

He turned back at her to see her shrug her shoulders and smile at him. "I was right with you, wasn't I?" Her face got serious again. "Thanks for telling me," she said softly.

He gave a slight nod. "Thank you for listening."

Her large eyes held his and suddenly there it was again, that strange feeling of lightness. Abruptly he got up. "I should leave now. It's very late and I have impinged on your time quite enough."

She looked up at him, startled by this sudden departure. "Please don't go yet," she said. Then, hesitating, added, "You shouldn't be alone…now."

Snape stood very still, his mind in turmoil. "Very well," he said eventually and sat down again.

An uncomfortable silence descended and Hermione was wondering what had made her stop him. Well, actually she knew well enough what had made her. Now that Snape had finally opened up to her, was talking to her again, she wanted to enjoy this as long as possible. She just didn't know what she should do next.

"Have you heard about Livia?" Snape jerked her out of her thoughts.

"No, what about her?" Hermione asked, glad for this safe topic.

"She got a life sentence in Azkaban," he stated. "Not only because of us, there are many more crimes from her past which have finally caught up with her. Constantine got 15 years."

Hermione shivered. "I'm glad. But it's horrible, being locked away like that, isn't it? After spending over twenty years in the void…"

Snape gave her a curious look. "She tortured and tried to kill you. And me, I might add. And still you feel pity for her?"

Hermione shrugged. "Perhaps I shouldn't." She grimaced. "Actually it's even worse. I miss Mary. Of course I know this is stupid, that she never really existed. And I'm angry with Livia and with myself that she was able to use me all the time. If I hadn't been so gullible… But still I miss the woman I thought she was."

Snape shook his head. "You had no way of knowing anything might be amiss with her. Don't feel guilty for it." He paused. "And on second thoughts, don't lose your pity for her. She might not merit it, but this…compassion…is a great quality."

"Thank you," Hermione said, surprised. He suddenly seemed rather self-conscious and didn't meet her eyes.

Hermione looked at Snape's sharp face, its paleness accentuated by his customary black, high collared gown. During his confessions there had been several times when she had wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she had always held herself back. Yet it was hard not to act on it and now again she was overwhelmed by a surge of aching tenderness.

"You are getting soft," she said, her joking tone giving no indication of the emotions raging inside her.

"What?" Snape's head jerked back to meet her eyes again.

Hermione grinned at his expression. "Coming here for Christmas… Getting reunited with your colleagues… You didn't snarl at anyone, were even rather civil to Quirin. If you don't take care you'll get positively likeable."

Snape snorted. "Must be your bad influence," he said, the drawl of his voice being betrayed by a jerking of his lips. "That's what you get from associating with Gryffindors."

Hermione laughed out loud. She felt curiously light and elated, sitting here with him, talking to him like that. And suddenly, without thinking, she said, "I missed this. Our conversations, I mean."

"So did I," Snape replied quietly.

Hermione's breath caught but he looked away immediately, as if he were sorry that he had said anything.

Silence descended. Hermione's mind was racing. If she spoke now, if she said what was on her mind, she'd cross a line and perhaps destroy their brittle relationship forever. Was she ready to risk that? But he was uncommonly open tonight, and this might be the only chance she would ever get. And so, with her heart hammering, she eventually asked softly, "What are we going to do now?"

Snape looked back at her, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Sobered and half regretting that she had spoken at all, Hermione was quiet for a few seconds. "About our…friendship…I mean," she finally said hesitantly.

She saw Snape stiffen and quickly added, her heart beating fast, "you can stop me now and I will never talk about it again. And we can just go on like this. Just be…friends. That's something. But if what happened meant anything…more…to you, than I need to know, Severus."

She leant forward, her eyes riveted on his face. He was very still, staring at her.

"Of course it meant something to me," he finally said strenuously. "But you shouldn't squander your affections on me."

A painful coldness spread in Hermione's chest. "Because you still love Lily?" she asked tentatively.

Snape's face tensed but he didn't look away. "I will always love her…in a way." His voice was low and sad. "But she is dead. Has been dead a long time now."

Hermione looked at him intently. "Then why…"

He looked down on his hands. "Because you deserve someone your age. Someone like Quirin. Someone who is not tainted the way I am."

"But what if that doesn't work out for me?" She asked very quietly. "I have tried it, believe me. What if I want you?"

Snape's head jerked up and he looked at her in absolute astonishment, his mind reeling. No one had ever said anything like that to him. He must have misunderstood her, or she must be joking. But her face was sincere.

"Why should you do that?" Snape asked, raw surprise in his voice.

"Because you _know_ me, Severus," Hermione said simply, her intent eyes never leaving his. "You know my past. You can understand what I have experienced. You know what's important to me, what drives me. And even more, you share my passion for knowledge, my intellectual curiosity. And I like being with you, talking to you, sharing my thoughts and ideas." She gave a tense laugh. "I even like your grumpy dry humour. And you saved my life, twice. You were willing to die for me. How could I not…love you?"

Silence descended. Hermione thought Snape must hear the beating of her heart. But his face was absolutely still. There was wonder in his eyes, confusion and something else. Suddenly he reached out, lightly touched a strand of her hair which had come loose and softly tucked it behind her ear.

Before he could withdraw his hand Hermione reached up and caught it. Her eyes never left his as she gently brought it to her mouth and placed a soft, swift kiss on the palm.

His eyes widened for the fraction of a second. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice husky.

"Would I tell you if I hadn't thought about it carefully?" she replied with a smile, feeling strangely light.

"I guess not." He extricated his hand from her grasp but only to reach out for her and lightly touch her cheek, trace the lines of her face.

They stared at each other and when Snape leaned forward Hermione came to meet him, their lips touching softly and a bit awkwardly at first. A warm feeling of utter happiness erupted in Snape's chest and he pushed back all his worries and unbelief. The only thing that mattered was to hold her close, to feel the intoxicating sensation of her lips on his, her body next to his.

When they finally separated Hermione looked at him with laughter dancing in her eyes. "I'm so glad I wasn't wrong about Stratford," she said mischievously.

He gave his short, barking laughter. "You have no idea what confusion that kiss threw me in," he said, softly tracing her lips with his index finger.

She quickly closed the distance between them and kissed him again, eager and passionate. "At least you could remember everything," Hermione stated accusingly when she had finally broken the kiss. "I was wondering for quite some time if I was just having rather strange dreams about you…"

Again Snape laughed. Suddenly the light in his eyes was dimmed by new wonderment. "I don't know how that happened," he said quietly, looking at her. His face was absolutely unguarded. "I don't know how I…merit…this. But I know that I love you, Hermione Granger. And if you really want…this…then I will try to make it work."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "Then everything is all right now, isn't it?" she asked softly.

Snape drew her close, resting his chin on her head. "Yes, it is."

* * *

_That's it! _

_Thanks to all of you who have stayed with this story until the end and special thanks to those who have left a review!_

_My biggest thanks however go to my staunch Beta C.E. Belvedier. Without her help and encouragement this story would have been much worse._

_Even though the story is now finished I am of course glad for every comment you have._

_And I'm curious: If you happen to also have read my first story, "A Touch of Frost", which one did you prefer? And why?_

_I have an idea for another story, but it'll take some time until I get around to posting something. Nevertheless, stay tuned._


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